Louis 


THE    RED   YEAR 


UNIV.  OF  CAUF.  LIBRARY.  LOS  ANGELES 


THE  RED  YEAR 

A  STORY 
OF  THE  INDIAN  MUTINY 


BY 

LOUIS  TRACY 

AUTHOR    OF 

'THE  WINGS  OF  THE  MORNING,"  "TUB  PILLAR  OF 

LIGHT,"  "  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  THE  KANSAS," 

ETC.,  ETC. 


NEV    YORK 

GROSSET     &     DUNLAP 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,    1907 
BY    EDWARD   J.  CLODE 


Entered  at  Stationers'"  Hali 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  I  PAGE 

THE  MESHES  OP  THE  NET 1 

CHAPTER  II 
A  NIGHT  m  MAY 19 

CHAPTER  III 
How  BAHADUR  SHAH  PROCLAIMED  HIS  EMPIRE    ....      39 

CHAPTER  IV 
ON  THE  WAT  TO  CAWNPORE 54 

CHAPTER  V 
A  WOMAN  INTERVENES 72 

CHAPTER  VI 
THE  WELL 91 

CHAPTER  VH 
To  LTTCKNOW 110 

CHAPTER  VIH 

WHEREIN  A  MOHAMMEDAN  FRATERNIZES  WITH  A  BRAHMEN  .     131 

CHAPTER  IX 
A  LONG  CHASE 151 

CHAPTER  X 

WHEREIN  FATE  PLAYS  TRICKS  WITH  MALCOLM 169 

V 


2133240 


Contents 

CHAPTER  XI 


PAGE 
190 


A  DAY'S  ADVENTURES 

CHAPTER  XII 
THE  SWING  OP  THE  PENDULUM : 

CHAPTER  XHI 

THE  MEM  WHO  WORE  SKIRTS 227 

CHAPTER  XIV 
WHY  MALCOLM  DID  NOT  WRITE 247 


CHAPTER  XV 


AT  THE  KING'S  COURT 


IN  THE  VORTEX 


THE  EXPIATION 


CHAPTER  XVI 


CHAPTER  XVH 


268 


290 


309 


VI 


"The  Red  Year 

CHAPTER  I 

THE   MESHES   OF  THE  NET 

ON  a  day  in  January,  1857,  a  sepoy  was  sitting  by 
a  well  in  the  cantonment  of  Dum-Dum,  near 
Calcutta.  Though  he  wore  the  uniform  of  John 
Company,  and  his  rank  was  the  lowest  in  the  native 
army,  he  carried  on  his  forehead  the  caste-marks  of 
the  Brahmin.  In  a  word,  he  was  more  than  noble, 
being  of  sacred  birth,  and  the  Hindu  officers  of  his 
regiment,  if  they  were  not  heaven-born  Brahmins, 
would  grovel  before  him  in  secret,  though  he  must 
obey  their  slightest  order  on  parade  or  in  the  field. 

To  him  approached  a  Lascar. 

"  Brother,"  said  the  newcomer,  "  lend  me  your  brass 
pot,  so  that  I  may  drink,  for  I  have  walked  far  in  the 
sun." 

The  sepoy  started  as  though  a  snake  had  stung  him. 
Lascars,  the  sailor-men  of  India,  were  notoriously  free- 
and-easy  in  their  manners.  Yet  how  came  it  that  even 
a  low-caste  mongrel  of  a  Lascar  should  offer  such  an 
overt  insult  to  a  Brahmin! 

"  Do  you  not  know,  swine-begotten,  that  your  hog's 
lips  would  contaminate  my  lotah?"  asked  he,  putting 
the  scorn  of  centuries  into  the  words. 

1 


The  Red  Year 

"Contaminate!"  grinned  the  Lascar,  neither  fright- 
ened nor  angered.  "By  holy  Ganga,  it  is  your  lips 
that  are  contaminated,  not  mine.  Are  not  the  Govern- 
ment greasing  your  cartridges  with  cow's  fat?  And 
can  you  load  your  rifle  without  biting  the  forbidden 
thing?  Learn  more  about  your  own  caste,  brother, 
before  you  talk  so  proudly  to  others." 

Not  a  great  matter,  this  squabble  between  a  sepoy 
and  a  Lascar,  yet  it  lit  such  a  flame  in  India  that  rivers 
of  blood  must  be  shed  ere  it  was  quenched.  The  Brah- 
min's mind  reeled  under  the  shock  of  the  retort.  It 
was  true,  then,  what  the  agents  of  the  dethroned  King 
of  Oudh  were  saying  in  the  bazaar.  The  Government 
were  bent  on  the  destruction  of  Brahminical  supremacy. 
He  and  his  caste-fellows  would  lose  all  that  made  life 
worth  living.  But  they  would  exact  a  bitter  price  for 
their  fall  from  high  estate. 

"Kill!"  he  murmured  in  his  frenzy,  as  he  rushed 
away  to  tell  his  comrades  the  lie  that  made  the  Indian 
Mutiny  possible.  "  Slay  and  spare  not !  Let  us  avenge 
our  wrongs  so  fully  that  no  accursed  Feringhi  shall  dare 
again  to  come  hither  across  the  Black  Water!" 

The  lie  and  the  message  flew  through  India  with  the 
inconceivable  speed  with  which  such  ill  tidings  always 
travels  in  that  country.  Ever  north  went  the  news  that 
the  British  Raj  was  doomed.  Hindu  fakirs,  aglow 
with  religious  zeal,  Mussalman  zealots,  as  eager  for 
dominance  in  this  world  as  for  a  houri-tenanted  Para- 
dise in  the  next,  carried  the  fiery  torch  of  rebellion  far 
and  wide.  And  so  the  flame  spread,  and  was  fanned 

2 


The  Meshes  of  the  Net 

to  red  fury,  though  the  eyes  of  few  Englishmen  could 
see  it,  while  native  intelligence  was  aghast  at  the 
supineness  of  their  over-lords. 

One  evening  in  the  month  of  April,  a  slim,  straight- 
backed  girl  stood  in  the  veranda  of  a  bungalow  at 
Meerut.  Her  slender  figure,  garbed  in  white  muslin, 
was  framed  in  a  creeper-covered  arch.  The  fierce 
ardor  of  an  Indian  spring  had  already  kissed  into  life 
a  profusion  of  red  flowers  amid  the  mass  of  greenery, 
and,  if  Winifred  Mayne  had  sought  an  effective  setting 
for  her  own  fair  picture,  she  could  not  have  found  one 
better  fitted  to  its  purpose. 

But  she  was  young  enough  and  pretty  enough  to  pay 
little  heed  to  pose  or  background.  In  fact,  so  much 
of  her  smooth  brow  as  could  be  seen  under  a  broad- 
brimmed  straw  hat  was  wrinkled  in  a  decided  frown. 
Happily,  her  bright  brown  eyes  had  a  glint  of  humor 
in  them,  for  Winifred's  wrath  was  an  evanescent  thing, 
a  pallid  sprite,  rarely  seen,  and  ever  ready  to  be  banished 
by  a  smile. 

"There!"  she  said,  tugging  at  a  refractory  glove. 
"Did  you  hear  it?  It  actually  shrieked  as  it  split. 
And  this  is  the  second  pair.  I  shall  never  again  believe 
a  word  Behari  Lai  says.  Wait  till  I  see  him.  I'll  give 
him  such  a  talking  to." 

"Then  I  have  it  in  my  heart  to  envy  Behari  Lai," 
said  her  companion,  glancing  up  at  her  from  the 
carriage-way  that  ran  by  the  side  of  the  few  steps 
leading  down  from  the  veranda. 

3 


"  Indeed !    May  I  ask  why  ? "  she  demanded. 

"Because  you  yield  him  a  privilege  you  deny  to  me." 

"  I  was  not  aware  you  meant  to  call  to-day.  As  it  is, 
I  am  paying  a  strictly  ceremonial  visit.  I  wish  I  could 
speak  Hindustani.  Now,  what  would  you  say  to 
Behari  Lai  in  such  a  case  ?  " 

"  I  hardly  know.  When  I  buy  gloves,  I  buy  them  of 
sufficient  size.  Of  course,  you  have  small  hands' — " 

"  Thank  you.  Please  don't  trouble  to  explain.  And 
now,  as  you  have  been  rude  to  me,  I  shall  not  take  you 
to  see  Mrs.  Meredith." 

"  But  that  is  a  kindness." 

"Then  you  shall  come,  and  be  miserable." 

"  For  your  sake,  Miss  Mayne,  I  would  face  Medusa, 
let  alone  the  excellent  wife  of  our  Commissary-General, 
but  fate,  in  the  shape  of  an  uncommonly  headstrong 
Arab,  forbids.  I  have  just  secured  a  new  charger, 
and  he  and  I  have  to  decide  this  evening  whether  I  go 
where  he  wants  to  go,  or  he  goes  where  I  want  to  go. 
I  wheedled  him  into  your  compound  by  sheer  trickery. 
The  really  definite  issue  will  be  settled  forthwith  on 
the  Grand  Trunk  Road." 

"I  hope  you  are  not  running  any  undue  risk,"  said 
the  girl,  with  a  sudden  note  of  anxiety  in  her  voice  that 
was  sweetest  music  to  Frank  Malcolm's  ears.  For  an 
instant  he  had  a  mad  impulse  to  ask  if  she  cared,  but 
he  crushed  it  ruthlessly,  and  his  bantering  reply  gave 
no  hint  of  the  tumult  in  his  breast.  Yet  he  feared  to 
meet  her  eyes,  and  was  glad  of  a  saluting  sepoy  who 
swaggered  jauntily  past  the  open  gate. 

4 


The  Meshes  of  the  Net 

"  I  don't  expect  to  be  deposited  in  the  dust,  if  that  is 
what  you  mean,"  he  said.  "  But  there  is  a  fair  chance 
that  instead  of  carrying  me  back  to  Meerut  my  friend 
Nejdi  will  take  me  to  Aligarh.  You  see,  he  is  an 
Arab  of  mettle.  If  I  am  too  rough  with  him,  it  will 
break  his  spirit;  if  too  gentle,  he  will  break  my  neck. 
He  needs  the  main  de  fer  sous  le  gant  de  velours.  Please 
forgive  me!  I  really  didn't  intend  to  mention  gloves 
again." 

"  Oh,  go  away,  you  and  your  Arab.  You  are  both 
horrid.  You  dine  here  to-morrow  night,  my  uncle 
said?" 

"Yes,  if  I  don't  send  you  a  telegram  from  Aligarh. 
I  may  be  brought  there,  you  know,  against  my 
will." 

Lifting  his  hat,  he  walked  towards  a  huge  pipal  tree 
in  the  compound.  Beneath  its  far-flung  branches  a 
syce  was  sitting  in  front  of  a  finely-proportioned  and 
unusually  big  Arab  horse.  Both  animal  and  man 
seemed  to  be  dozing,  but  they  woke  into  activity  when 
the  sahib  approached.  The  Arab  pricked  his  ears, 
swished  his  long  and  arched  tail  viciously,  and  showed 
the  whites  of  his  eyes.  A  Bedouin  of  the  desert,  a  true 
scion  of  the  incomparable  breed  of  Nejd,  he  was 
suspicious  of  civilization,  and  his  new  owner  was  a 
stranger,  as  yet. 

"Ready  for  the  fray,  I  see,"  murmured  Malcolm 
with  a  smile.  He  wasted  no  time  over  preliminaries. 
Bidding  the  syce  place  his  thumbs  in  the  steel  rings  of 
the  bridle,  the  young  Englishman  gathered  the  reins 

5 


The  Red  Year 

and  a  wisp  of  gray  mane  in  his  left  hand.  Seizing  a 
favorable  moment,  when  the  struggling  animal  flinched 
from  the  touch  of  a  low-lying  branch  on  the  off  side, 
he  vaulted  into  the  saddle.  Chunga,  the  syce,  held  on 
until  his  master's  feet  had  found  the  stirrups.  Then 
he  was  told  to  let  go,  and  Miss  Winifred  Mayne,  niece 
of  a  Commissioner  of  Oudh,  quite  the  most  eligible 
young  lady  the  Meerut  district  could  produce  that  year, 
witnessed  a  display  of  cool,  resourceful  horsemanship 
as  the  enraged  Arab  plunged  and  curvetted  through 
the  main  gate. 

It  left  her  rather  flushed  and  breathless. 

"I  like  Mr.  Malcolm,"  she  confided  to  herself  with 
a  little  laugh,  "  but  his  manner  with  women  is  distinctly 
brusque!  I  wonder  why!" 

The  Grand  Trunk  Road  ran  to  left  and  right.  To 
the  left  it  led  to  the  bazaar,  the  cantonment,  and  the 
civil  lines;  to  the  right,  after  passing  a  few  houses 
tenanted  by  Europeans,  it  entered  the  open  country  on 
a  long  stretch  of  over  a  thousand  miles  to  Calcutta  and 
the  south.  In  1857  no  thoroughfare  in  the  world 
equaled  the  Grand  Trunk  Road.  Beginning  at 
Peshawur,  in  the  extreme  north  of  India,  it  traversed 
the  Punjab  for  six  hundred  miles  as  far  as  Aligarh. 
Here  it  broke  into  the  Calcutta  and  Bombay  branches, 
each  nearly  a  thousand  miles  in  length.  Wide  and 
straight,  well  made  and  tree-lined  throughout,  it  sup- 
plied the  two  great  arteries  of  Indian  life.  Malcolm 
had  selected  it  as  a  training-ground  that  evening, 
because  he  meant  to  weary  and  subdue  his  too  highly 

6 


The  Meshes  of  the  Net 

spirited  charger.  Whether  the  pace  was  fast  or  slow, 
Nejdi  would  be  compelled  to  meet  many  varieties  of 
traffic,  from  artillery  elephants  and  snarling  camels 
down  to  the  humble  bullock-cart  of  the  ryot.  Possibly, 
he  would  not  shy  at  such  monstrosities  after  twenty 
miles  of  a  lathering  ride. 

The  mad  pace  set  by  the  Arab  when  he  heard  the 
clatter  of  his  feet  on  the  hard  road  chimed  in  with  the 
turbulent  mood  of  his  rider.  Frank  Malcolm  was  a 
soldier  by  choice  and  instinct.  When  he  joined  the 
Indian  army,  and  became  a  subaltern  in  a  native 
cavalry  regiment,  he  determined  to  devote  himself  to 
his  profession.  He  gave  his  whole  thought  to  it  and 
to  nothing  else.  His  interests  lay  in  his  work.  He 
regarded  every  undertaking  from  the  point  of  view  of 
its  influence  on  his  military  education,  so  it  may  be 
conceded  instantly  that  the  arrival  in  Meerut  of  an 
Oudh  Commissioner's  pretty  niece  should  not  have 
affected  the  peace  of  mind  of  this  budding  Napoleon. 

But  a  nice  young  woman  can  find  joints  in  the  armor 
of  the  sternest-souled  young  man.  Her  attack  is  all 
the  more  deadly  if  it  be  unpremeditated,  and  Frank 
Malcolm  had  already  reached  the  self-depreciatory 
stage  wherein  a  comparatively  impecunious  subaltern 
asks  himself  the  sad  question  whether  it  be  possible 
for  such  a  one  to  woo  and  wed  a  maid  of  high  degree, 
or  her  Anglo-Indian  equivalent,  an  heiress  of  much 
prospective  wealth  and  present  social  importance. 

But  money  and  rank  are  artificial,  the  mere  varjiish 
of  life,  and  the  hot  breath  of  reality  can  soon  scorch 

7 


The  Red  year 

them  out  of  existence.  Events  were  then  shaping 
themselves  in  India  that  were  destined  to  sweep  aside 
convention  for  many  a  day.  Had  the  young  English- 
man but  known  it,  five  miles  from  Meerut  his  Arab's 
hoofs  threw  pebbles  over  a  swarthy  moullah,  lank  and 
travel-stained,  who  was  hastening  towards  the  Punjab 
on  a  dreadful  errand.  The  man  turned  and  cursed 
him  as  he  passed,  and  vowed  with  bitter  venom  that 
when  the  time  of  reckoning  came  there  would  not  be 
a  Feringhi  left  in  all  the  land.  Malcolm,  however, 
would  have  laughed  had  he  heard.  Affairs  of  state  did 
not  concern  him.  His  only  trouble  was  that  Winifred 
Mayne  stood  on  a  pinnacle  far  removed  from  the 
beaten  path  of  a  cavalry  subaltern.  So,  being  in  a 
rare  fret  and  fume,  he  let  the  gray  Arab  gallop  himself 
white,  and,  when  the  high-mettled  Nejdi  thought  of 
easing  the  pace  somewhat,  he  was  urged  onward  with 
the  slight  but  utterly  unprecedented  prick  of  a  spur. 

That  was  a  degradation  not  to  be  borne.  The 
Calcutta  Brahmin  did  not  resent  the  Lascar's  taunt 
more  keenly.  With  a  swerve  that  almost  unseated 
Malcolm,  the  Arab  dashed  in  front  of  a  bullock-cart, 
swept  between  the  trees  on  the  west  side  of  the  road, 
leaped  a  broad  ditch,  and  crashed  into  a  field  of  millet. 
Another  ditch,  another  field,  breast  high  with  tall 
castor-oil  plants,  a  frantic  race  through  a  grove  of 
mangoes  — when  Malcolm  had  to  lie  flat  on  Nejdi's 
neck  to  avoid  being  swept  off  by  the  low  branches  — 
and  horse  and  man  dived  headlong  into  deep  water. 

The  splash,  far  more  than  the  ducking,  frightened 
8 


The  Meshes  of  the  Net 

the  horse.  Malcolm,  in  that  instant  of  prior  warning 
which  the  possessor  of  steady  nerves  learns  to  use  so 
well,  disengaged  his  feet  from  the  stirrups.  He  was 
thrown  clear,  and,  when  he  came  to  the  surface,  he 
saw  that  the  Arab  and  himself  were  floundering  in  a 
moat.  Not  the  pleasantest  of  bathing-places  anywhere, 
in  India  such  a  sheet  of  almost  stagnant  water  has 
excessive  peculiarities.  Among  other  items,  it  breeds 
fever  and  harbors  snakes,  so  Malcolm  floundered 
rather  than  swam  to  the  bank,  where  he  had  the 
negative  satisfaction  of  catching  Nejdi's  bridle  when 
that  disconcerted  steed  scrambled  out  after  him. 

The  two  were  coated  with  green  slime.  Being 
obviously  unhurt,  they  probably  had  a  forlornly  comic 
aspect.  At  any  rate,  a  woman's  musical  laugh  came 
from  the  lofty  wall  which  bounded  the  moat  on  the 
further  side,  and  a  woman's  clear  voice  said: 

"A  bold  leap,  sahib!  Did  you  mean  to  scale  the 
fort  on  horseback?  And  why  not  have  chosen  a  spot 
where  the  water  was  cleaner  ?  " 

Before  he  could  see  the  speaker,  so  smothered  was 
he  in  dripping  moss  and  weeds,  Malcolm  knew  that 
some  lady  of  rank  had  watched  his  adventure.  She 
used  the  pure  Persian  of  the  court,  and  her  diction 
was  refined.  Luckily,  he  had  studied  Persian  as  well 
as  its  Indian  off-shoot,  Hindustani,  and  he  understood 
the  words.  He  pressed  back  his  dank  hair,  squeezed 
the  water  and  slime  off  his  face,  and  looked  up. 

To  his  exceeding  wonder,  his  eyes  met  those  of  a 
young  Mohammedan  woman,  a  woman  richly  garbed, 


The  Red  Year 

and  of  remarkable  appearance.  She  was  unveiled, 
an  amazing  fact  in  itself,  and  her  creamy  skin,  arched 
eyebrows,  regular  features,  and  raven-black  hair  pro- 
claimed her  aristocratic  lineage.  She  was  leaning 
forward  in  an  embrasure  of  the  battlemented  wall. 
Behind  her,  two  attendants,  oval-faced,  brown-skinned 
women  of  the  people,  peered  shyly  at  the  Englishman. 
When  he  glanced  their  way,  they  hurriedly  adjusted 
their  silk  saris,  or  shawls,  so  as  to  hide  their  faces. 
Their  mistress  used  no  such  bashful  subterfuge.  She 
leaned  somewhat  farther  through  the  narrow  embra- 
sure, revealing  by  the  action  her  bejeweled  and  ex- 
quisitely molded  arms. 

"Perhaps  you  do  not  speak  my  language,"  she  said 
in  Urdu,  the  tongue  most  frequently  heard  in  Upper 
India.  "  If  you  will  go  round  to  the  gate  —  that 
way  — "  and  she  waved  a  graceful  hand  to  the  left  — 
"my  servants  will  render  you  some  assistance." 

By  that  time,  Malcolm  had  regained  his  wits.  A 
verse  of  a  poem  by  Hafiz  occurred  to  him. 

"  Princess,"  he  said,  "  the  radiance  of  your  presence 
is  as  the  full  moon  suddenly  illumining  the  path  of  a 
weary  traveler,  who  finds  himself  on  the  edge  of  a 
morass." 

A  flash  of  surprise  and  pleasure  lit  the  fine  eyes  of 
the  haughty  beauty  perched  up  there  on  the  palace 
wall. 

"Tis  well  said,"  she  vowed,  smiling  with  all  the 
rare  effect  of  full  red  lips  and  white  even  teeth.  "  Never- 
theless, this  is  no  time  for  compliments.  You  need 

10 


The  Meshes  of  the  Net 

our  help,  and  it  shall  be  given  willingly.  Make  for 
the  gate,  I  pray  you." 

She  turned,  and  gave  an  order  to  one  of  the  attend- 
ants. With  another  encouraging  smile  to  Malcolm, 
she  disappeared. 

Leading  the  Arab,  who,  with  the  fatalism  of  his  race, 
was  quiet  as  a  sheep  now  that  he  had  found  a  master, 
the  young  officer  took  the  direction  pointed  out  by  the 
lady.  Rounding  an  angle  of  the  wall,  he  came  to  a 
causeway  spanned  by  a  small  bridge,  which  was 
guarded  by  the  machicolated  towers  of  a  strong  gate. 
A  ponderous  door,  studded  with  great  bosses  of  iron 
fashioned  to  represent  elephants'  heads,  swung  open  — 
half  reluctantly  it  seemed  —  and  he  was  admitted  to  a 
spacious  inner  courtyard. 

The  number  of  armed  retainers  gathered  there  was 
unexpectedly  large.  He  was  well  acquainted  with  the 
Meerut  district,  yet  he  had  no  notion  that  such  a 
fortress  existed  within  an  hour's  fast  ride  of  the  station. 
The  King  of  Delhi  had  a  hunting-lodge  somewhere  in 
the  locality,  but  he  had  never  seen  the  place.  If  this 
were  it,  why  should  it  be  crammed  with  soldiers? 
Above  all,  why  should  they  eye  him  with  such  ill- 
concealed  displeasure?  Duty  had  brought  him  once 
to  Delhi  —  it  was  barely  forty  miles  from  Meerut  — 
and  the  relations  between  the  feeble  old  King,  Bahadur 
Shah,  and  the  British  authorities  were  then  most 
friendly,  while  the  hangers-on  at  the  Court  mixed 
freely  with  the  Europeans.  His  quick  intelligence 
caught  at  the  belief  that  these  men  resented  his  presence 

1.1 


The  Red  Year 

because  he  was  brought  among  them  by  the  command 
of  the  lady.  He  knew  now  that  he  must  have  seen 
and  spoken  to  one  of  the  royal  princesses.  None  other 
would  dare  to  show  herself  unveiled  to  a  stranger,  and 
a  white  man  at  that.  The  manifest  annoyance  of  her 
household  was  thus  easily  accounted  for,  but  he  mar- 
veled at  the  strength  of  her  body-guard. 

He  was  given  little  time  for  observation.  A  distin- 
guished-looking man,  evidently  vested  with  authority, 
bustled  forward  and  addressed  him,  civilly  enough. 
Servants  came  with  water  and  towels,  and  cleaned  his 
garments  sufficiently  to  make  him  presentable,  while 
other  men  groomed  his  horse.  He  was  wet  through, 
of  course,  but  that  was  not  a  serious  matter  with  the 
thermometer  at  seventy  degrees  in  the  shade,  and, 
despite  the  ordinance  of  the  Prophet,  a  glass  of  excel- 
lent red  wine  was  handed  to  him. 

But  he  saw  no  more  of  the  Princess.  He  thought 
she  would  hardly  dare  to  receive  him  openly,  and  her 
deputy  gave  no  sign  of  admitting  him  to  the  interior 
of  the  palace,  which  loomed  around  the  square  of  the 
courtyard  like  some  great  prison. 

A  chaprassi  recovered  his  hat,  which  he  had  left 
floating  in  the  moat  Nejdi  allowed  him  to  mount 
quietly;  the  stout  door  had  closed  on  him,  and  he 
was  picking  his  way  across  the  fields  towards  the 
Meerut  road,  before  he  quite  realized  how  curious  were 
the  circumstances  which  had  befallen  him  since  he 
parted  from  Winifred  Mayne  in  the  porch  of  her 
uncle's  bungalow. 

12 


The  Meshes  of  the  Net 

Then  he  bent  forward  in  the  saddle  to  stroke  Nejdi's 
curved  neck,  and  laughed  cheerfully. 

"  You  are  wiser  than  I,  good  horse,"  said  he.  "  When 
the  game  is  up,  you  take  things  placidly.  Here  am  I, 
your  supposed  superior  in  intellect,  in  danger  of  being 
bewitched  by  a  woman's  eyes.  Whether  brown  or 
black,  they  play  the  deuce  with  a  man  if  they  shine  in  a 
woman's  head.  So  ho,  then,  boy,  let  us  home  and  eat, 
and  forget  these  fairies  in  muslin  and  clinging  silk." 

Yet  a  month  passed,  and  Frank  Malcolm  did  not 
succeed  in  forgetting.  Like  any  moth  hovering  round 
a  lamp,  the  more  he  was  singed  the  closer  he  fluttered, 
though  the  memory  of  the  Indian  princess's  brilliant 
black  eyes  was  soon  lost  in  the  sparkle  of  Winifred's 
brown  ones. 

As  it  happened,  the  young  soldier  was  a  prime 
favorite  with  the  Commissioner,  and  it  is  possible  that 
the  course  of  true  love  might  have  run  most  smoothly 
if  the  red  torch  of  war  had  not  flashed  over  the  land 
like  the  glare  of  some  mighty  volcano. 

On  Sunday  evening,  May  10th,  Malcolm  rode  away 
from  his  own  small  bungalow,  and  took  the  Aligarh 
road.  As  in  all  up-country  stations,  the  European 
residences  in  Meerut  were  scattered  over  an  immense 
area.  The  cantonment  was  split  into  two  sections  by 
an  irregular  ravine,  or  nullah,  running  east  and  west. 
North  of  this  ditch  were  many  officers'  bungalows,  and 
the  barracks  of  the  European  troops,  tenanted  by  a 
regiment  of  dragoons,  the  60th  Rifles,  and  a  strong 
force  of  artillery,  both  horse  and  foot.  Between  the 

13 


The  Red  Year 

infantry  and  cavalry  barracks  stood  the  soldiers' 
church.  Fully  two  miles  away,  on  the  south  side  of 
the  ravine,  were  the  sepoy  lines,  and  another  group  of 
isolated  bungalows.  The  native  town  was  in  this 
quarter,  while  the  space  intervening  between  the 
British  and  Indian  troops  was  partly  covered  with 
rambling  bazaars. 

Malcolm  had  been  detained  nearly  half  an  hour  by 
some  difficulty  which  a  subadar  had  experienced  in 
arranging  the  details  of  the  night's  guard.  Several 
men  were  absent  without  leave,  and  he  attributed  this 
unusual  occurrence  to  the  severe  measures  the  colonel 
had  taken  when  certain  troopers  refused  to  use  the 
cartridges  supplied  for  the  new  Enfield  rifle.  But,  like 
every  other  officer  in  Meerut,  he  was  confident  that  the 
nearness  of  the  strongest  European  force  in  the  North- 
West  Provinces  would  certainly  keep  the  malcontents 
quiet.  Above  all  else,  he  was  ready  to  stake  his  life 
on  the  loyalty  of  the  great  majority  of  the  men  of  his 
own  regiment,  the  3d  Native  Cavalry. 

In  pushing  Nejdi  along  at  a  fast  canter,  therefore, 
he  had  no  weightier  matter  on  his  mind  than  the  fear 
that  he  might  have  kept  Winifred  waiting.  When  he 
dashed  into  the  compound,  and  saw  that  there  was  no 
dog-cart  standing  in  the  porch,  he  imagined  that  the 
girl  had  gone  without  him,  or,  horrible  suspicion,  with 
some  other  cavalier. 

It  was  not  so.  Winifred  herself  appeared  on  the 
veranda  as  he  dismounted. 

"  You  are  a  laggard,"  she  said  severely. 
14 


The  Meshes  of  the  Net 

"I  could  not  help  it.  I  was  busy  in  the  orderly- 
room.  But  why  lose  more  time  ?  If  that  fat  pony  of 
yours  is  rattled  along  we  shall  not  be  very  much 
behindhand." 

"You  must  not  speak  disrespectfully  of  my  pony. 
If  he  is  fat,  it  is  due  to  content,  not  laziness.  And 
you  are  evidently  not  aware  that  Evensong  is  half  an 
hour  later  to-day,  owing  to  the  heat.  Of  course,  I 
expected  you  earlier,  and,  if  necessary,  I  would  have 
gone  alone,  but  —  " 

She  hesitated,  and  looked  over  her  shoulder  into  the 
mime  ,e  drawing-room  that  occupied  the  center  of 
the  bungalow  from  front  to  rear. 

"I  don't  mind  admitting,"  she  went  on,  laughing 
nervously,  "  that  I  am  a  wee  bit  afraid  these  days  — 
there  is  so  much  talk  of  a  native  rising.  Uncle  gets  so 
cross  with  me  when  I  say  anything  of  that  kind  that 
I  keep  my  opinions  to  myself." 

"The  country  is  unsettled,"  said  Frank,  "and  it 
would  be  folly  to  deny  the  fact.  But,  at  any  rate,  you 
are  safe  enough  in  Meerut." 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  Only  yesterday  morning  eighty-five 
men  of  your  own  regiment  were  sent  to  prison,  were 
they  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  they  alone  were  disaffected.  Every  soldier 
knows  he  must  obey,  and  these  fellows  refused  point- 
blank  to  use  their  cartridges,  though  the  Colonel  said 
they  might  tear  them  instead  of  biting  them.  He 
could  go  no  further  —  I  wonder  he  met  their  stupid 
whims  even  thus  far." 

15 


The  Red  Year 

"  Well,  perhaps  you  are  right.  Come  in,  for  a  minute 
or  two.  My  uncle  is  in  a  rare  temper.  You  must  help 
to  talk  him  out  of  it  By  the  way,  where  are  all  the 
servants  ?  The  dog-cart  ought  to  be  here.  Koi  hail " * 

No  one  came  in  response  to  her  call.  Thinking  that 
a  syce  or  chaprassi  would  appear  in  a  moment,  Frank 
hung  Nejdi's  bridle  on  a  lamp-hook  in  the  porch,  and 
entered  the  bungalow. 

He  soon  discovered  that  Mr.  Mayne's  wrath  was  due 
to  a  statement  in  a  Calcutta  newspaper  that  a  certain 
Colonel  Wheler  had  been  preaching  to  his  sepoys. 

"What  between  a  psalm-singing  Viceroy  and  com- 
manding officers  who  hold  conventicles,  we  are  in  for 
a  nice  hot  weather,"  growled  the  Commissioner,  shoving 
a  box  of  cheroots  towards  Malcolm  when  the  latter 
found  him  stretched  in  a  long  cane  chair  on  the  back 
veranda.  "Here  is  Lady  Canning  trying  to  convert 
native  women,  and  a  number  of  missionaries  publishing 
manifestoes  about  the  influence  of  railways  and  steam- 
ships in  bringing  about  the  spiritual  union  of  the  world ! 
I  tell  you,  Malcolm,  India  won't  stand  it.  We  can  do 
as  we  like  with  Hindu  and  Mussalman  so  long  as  we 
leave  their  respective  religions  untouched.  The  mo- 
ment those  are  threatened  we  enter  the  danger  zone. 
Confound  it,  why  can't  we  let  the  people  worship  God 
in  their  own  way?  If  anything,  they  are  far  more 
religiously  inclined  than  we  ourselves.  Where  is  the 
Englishman  who  will  flop  down  in  the  middle  of  the 

1  The  Anglo-Indian  phrase  for  summoning  a  servant,  meaning: 
"  Is  there  any  one  there  ?  " 

16 


The  Meshes  of  the  Net 

road  to  say  his  prayers  at  sunset,  or  measure  his  length 
along  two  thousand  miles  of  a  river  bank  merely  as  a 
penance?  Give  me  authority  to  pack  a  shipload  of 
busy-bodies  home  to  England,  and  I'll  soon  have  the 
country  quiet  enough — " 

An  ominous  sound  interrupted  the  Commissioner's 
outburst.     Both    men    heard    the    crackle    of   distan 
musketry.     At  first,  neither  was  willing  to  admit  its 
significance. 

"Where  is  Winifred?"  demanded  Mr.  Mayne, 
suddenly. 

"She  is  looking  for  a  servant,  I  fancy.  There  was 
none  in  the  front  of  the  house,  and  I  wanted  a  man  to 
hold  my  horse." 

A  far-off  volley  rumbled  over  the  plain,  and  a  few 
birds  stirred  uneasily  among  the  trees. 

"  No  servants  to  be  seen  —  at  this  hour ! " 

They  looked  at  each  other  in  silence. 

"  We  must  find  Winifred,"  said  the  older  man,  rising 
from  his  chair. 

"  And  I  must  hurry  back  to  my  regiment,"  said  Frank. 

"You  think,  then,  that  there  is  trouble  with  the 
native  troops  ?  " 

"With  the  sepoys,  yes.  I  have  been  told  that  the 
llth  and  20th  are  not  wholly  to  be  trusted.  And  those 
volleys  are  fired  by  infantry." 

A  rapid  step  and  the  rustle  of  a  dress  warned  them 
that  the  girl  was  approaching.  She  came,  like  a 
startled  fawn. 

"The  servants'  quarters  are  deserted,"  she  cried. 
17 


The  Red  Year 

''Great  columns  of  smoke  are  rising  over  the  trees, 
and  you  hear  the  shooting !  Oh,  what  does  it  mean  ?  " 

"It  means,  my  dear,  that  the  Dragoons  and  the 
60th  will  have  to  teach  these  impudent  rebels  a  much- 
needed  lesson,"  said  her  uncle.  "There  is  no  cause 
for  alarm.  Must  you  really  go,  Malcolm  ?  " 

"Go!"  broke  in  Winifred  with  the  shrill  accents  of 
terror.  "  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"To  my  regiment,  of  course,"  said  Frank,  smiling 
at  her  fears.  "  Probably  we  shall  be  able  to  put  down 
this  outbreak  before  the  white  troops  arrive.  Good-by. 
I  shall  either  return,  or  send  a  trustworthy  messenger, 
within  an  hour." 

And  so,  confident  and  eager,  he  was  gone,  and  the 
first  moments  of  the  hour  sped  when,  perhaps,  a  strong 
man  in  control  at  Meerut  might  have  saved  India. 


18 


CHAPTER  II 

A  NIGHT   IN   MAT 

WINIFRED,  quite  unconsciously,  had  stated  the  actual 
incident  that  led  to  the  outbreak  of  the  Mutiny.  The 
hot  weather  was  so  trying  for  the  white  troops  in  Meerut, 
many  of  whom,  under  ordinary  conditions,  would  then 
have  been  in  the  hills,  that  the  General  had  ordered  a 
Church  Parade  in  the  evening,  and  at  an  unusual  hour. 

All  day  long  the  troopers  of  the  3rd  Cavalry  nursed 
their  wrath  at  the  fate  of  their  comrades  who  had 
refused  to  handle  the  suspected  cartridges.  They  had 
seen  men  whom  they  regarded  as  martyrs  stripped  of 
their  uniforms  and  riveted  in  chains  in  front  of  the 
whole  garrison  on  the  morning  of  the  9th.  Though 
fear  of  the  British  force  in  the  cantonment  kept  them 
quiet,  Hindu  vied  with  Mussalman  in  muttered  execra- 
tions of  the  dominant  race.  The  fact  that  the  day 
following  the  punishment  parade  was  a  Sunday  brought 
about  a  certain  relaxation  from  discipline.  The  men 
loafed  in  the  bazaars,  were  taunted  by  courtesans  with 
lack  of  courage,  and  either  drowned  their  troubles  in 
strong  drink  or  drew  together  in  knots  to  talk  treason. 

Suddenly  a  sepoy  raced  up  to  the  cavalry  lines  with 
thrilling  news. 

19 


The  Red  Year 

"The  Rifles  and  Artillery  are  coming  to  disarm  all 
the  native  regiments ! "  he  shouted. 

He  had  watched  the  60th  falling  in  for  the  Church 
Parade,  and,  in  view  of  the  action  taken  at  Barrackpore 
and  Lucknow — sepoy  battalions  having  been  disbanded 
in  both  stations  for  mutinous  conduct  —  he  instantly 
jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  the  military  authorities  at 
Meerut  meant  to  steal  a  march  on  the  disaffected  troops. 
His  warning  cry  was  as  a  torch  laid  to  a  gunpowder  train. 

The  3d  Cavalry,  Malcolm's  own  corps,  swarmed  out 
of  bazaar  and  quarters  like  angry  wasps.  Nearly  hah* 
the  regiment  ran  to  secure  their  picketed  horses,  armed 
themselves  in  hot  haste,  and  galloped  to  the  gaol. 
Smashing  open  the  door,  they  freed  the  imprisoned 
troopers,  struck  off  their  fetters,  and  took  no  measures 
to  prevent  the  escape  of  the  general  horde  of  convicts. 
Yet,  even  in  that  moment  of  frenzy,  some  of  the  men 
remained  true  to  their  colors.  Captain  Craigie  and 
Lieutenant  Melville  Clarke,  hearing  the  uproar, 
mounted  their  chargers,  rode  to  the  lines,  and  actually 
brought  their  troop  to  the  parade  ground  in  perfect 
discipline.  Meanwhile,  the  alarm  had  spread  to  the 
sepoys.  No  one  knew  exactly  what  caused  all  the 
commotion.  Wild  rumors  spread,  but  no  man  could 
speak  definitely.  The  British  officers  of  the  llth  and 
20th  regiments  were  getting  their  men  into  something 
like  order  when  a  sowar1  clattered  up,  and  yelled  to 

1  It  should  be  explained  that  a  sepoy  (properly  "  sipahi ")  is  an 
infantry  soldier,  and  a  sowar  a  mounted  one.  The  English  equiva- 
lents are  "  private  "  and  "  trooper." 

20 


A  Night  in  May 

the  infantry  that  the  European  troops  were  marching 
to  disarm  them. 

At  once,  the  20th  broke  in  confusion,  seized  their 
muskets,  and  procured  ammunition.  The  llth  wa- 
vered, and  were  listening  to  the  appeal  of  their  beloved 
commanding  officer,  Colonel  Finnis,  when  some  of  the 
20th  came  back  and  fired  at  him.  He  fell,  pierced 
with  many  bullets,  the  first  victim  of  India's  Red  Year. 
His  men  hesitated  no  longer.  Afire  with  religious 
fanaticism,  they,  too,  armed  themselves,  and  dispersed 
in  search  of  loot  and  human  prey.  They  acted  on  no 
preconcerted  plan.  The  trained  troops  simply  formed 
the  nucleus  of  an  armed  mob,  its  numbers  ever  swelling 
as  the  convicts  from  the  gaol,  the  bad  characters  from 
the  city,  and  even  the  native  police,  joined  in  the  work 
of  murder  and  destruction.  They  had  no  leader. 
Each  man  emulated  his  neighbor  in  ferocity.  Like  a 
pack  of  wolves  on  the  trail,  they  followed  the  scent  of 
blood. 

The  rapid  spread  of  the  revolt  was  not  a  whit  less 
marvelous  than  its  lack  of  method  or  cohesion.  Many 
writers  have  put  forward  the  theory  that,  by  accident, 
the  mutiny  broke  out  half  an  hour  too  soon,  and  that 
the  rebels  meant  to  surprise  the  unarmed  white  garrison 
while  in  church. 

In  reality,  nothing  was  further  from  their  thoughts. 
If,  in  a  nebulous  way,  a  date  was  fixed  for  a  combined 
rising  of  the  native  army,  it  was  Sunday,  May  31, 
three  weeks  later  than  the  day  of  the  outbreak.  The 
soldiers,  helped  by  the  scum  of  the  bazaar,  after 

21 


The  Red  Year 

indulging  in  an  orgy  of  bloodshed  and  plunder,  dis- 
persed and  ran  for  their  lives,  fearing  that  the  avenging 
British  were  hot  on  their  heels.  And  that  was  all. 
There  was  no  plan,  no  settled  purpose.  Hate  and 
greed  nerved  men's  hands,  but  head  there  was  none. 

Malcolm's  ride  towards  the  center  of  the  station  gave 
proof  in  plenty  that  the  mutineers  were  a  disorganized 
rabble,  inspired  only  by  unreasoning  rancor  against 
all  Europeans,  and,  like  every  mob,  eager  for  pillage. 
At  first,  he  met  but  few  native  soldiers.  The  rioters 
were  budmashes,  the  predatory  class  which  any  city  in 
the  world  can  produce  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  when 
the  strong  arm  of  the  law  is  paralyzed.  Armed  with 
swords  and  clubs,  gangs  of  men  rushed  from  house  to 
house,  murdering  the  helpless  inmates,  mostly  women 
and  children,  seizing  such  valuables  as  they  could  find, 
and  setting  the  buildings  on  fire.  These  ghouls  prac- 
tised the  most  unheard-of  atrocities.  They  spared  no 
one.  Finding  a  woman  lying  ill  in  bed,  they  poured  oil 
over  the  bed  clothes,  and  thus  started,  with  a  human 
holocaust,  the  fire  that  destroyed  the  bungalow. 

They  were  rank  cowards,  too.  Another  English- 
woman, also  an  invalid,  was  fortunate  in  possessing  a 
devoted  ayah.  This  faithful  creature  saved  her  mis- 
tress by  her  quick-witted  shriek  that  the  mem-sahib 
must  be  avoided  at  all  costs,  as  she  was  suffering  from 
smallpox !  The  destroyers  fled  in  terror,  not  waiting 
even  to  fire  the  house. 

It  was  not  until  later  days  that  Malcolm  knew  the 
real  nature  of  the  scene  through  which  he  rode.  He 


A  Night  in  May 

saw  the  flames,  he  heard  the  Mohammedan  yell  of 
"Ali!  Ali!"  and  the  Hindu  shriek  of  "  Jai!  Jai!"  but 
the  quick  fall  of  night,  its  growing  dusk  deepened  by 
the  spreading  clouds  of  smoke,  and  his  own  desperate 
haste  to  reach  the  cavalry  lines,  prevented  him  from 
appreciating  the  full  extent  of  the  horrors  surrounding 
his  path. 

Arrived  at  the  parade  ground,  he  met  Craigie  and 
Melville  Clarke,  with  the  one  troop  that  remained  of 
the  regiment  of  which  he  was  so  proud.  There  were 
no  other  officers  to  be  seen,  so  these  three  held  a  con- 
sultation. They  were  sure  that  the  white  troops  would 
soon  put  an  end  to  the  prevalent  disorder,  and  they 
decided  to  do  what  they  could,  within  a  limited  area, 
to  save  life  and  property.  Riding  towards  his  own 
bungalow  to  obtain  a  sword  and  a  couple  of  revolvers, 
Malcolm  came  upon  a  howling  mob  in  the  act  of 
swarming  into  the  compound  of  Craigie's  house.  Some 
score  of  troopers  heard  his  fierce  cry  for  help,  and  fell 
upon  the  would-be  murderers,  for  Mrs.  Craigie  and  her 
children  were  alone  in  the  bungalow.  The  riff-raff 
were  soon  driven  off,  and  Malcolm,  not  yet  realizing 
the  gravity  of  the  emeute,  told  the  men  to  safeguard  the 
mem-sahib  until  they  received  further  orders,  while  he 
went  to  rejoin  his  senior  officer. 

Incredible  as  it  may  seem,  the  tiny  detachment 
obeyed  him  to  the  letter.  They  held  the  compound 
against  repeated  assaults,  and  lost  several  men  in  hand- 
to-hand  fighting. 

The  history  of  that  terrible  hour  is  brightened  by 
23 


The  Red  Year 

many  such  instances  of  native  fealty.  The  Treasury 
Guard,  composed  of  men  of  the  8th  Irregular  Cavalry, 
not  only  refused  to  join  the  rebels  but  defended  their 
charge  boldly.  A  week  later,  of  their  own  free  will, 
they  escorted  the  treasure  and  records  from  Meerut  to 
Agra,  the  transfer  being  made  for  greater  safety,  and 
beat  off  several  attacks  by  insurgents  on  the  way. 
They  were  well  rewarded  for  their  fidelity,  yet,  such 
was  the  power  of  fanaticism,  within  less  than  two  months 
they  deserted  to  a  man! 

The  acting  Commissioner  of  Meerut,  Mr.  Greathed, 
whose  residence  was  in  the  center  of  the  sacked  area, 
took  his  wife  to  the  flat  roof  of  his  house  when  he 
found  that  escape  was  impossible.  A  gang  of  ruffians 
ransacked  every  room,  and,  piling  the  furniture,  set  it 
alight,  but  a  trustworthy  servant,  named  Golab  Khan, 
told  them  that  he  would  reveal  the  hiding-place  of  the 
sahib  and  mem-sahib  if  they  followed  quickly.  He 
thus  decoyed  them  away,  and  the  fortunate  couple  were 
enabled  to  reach  the  British  lines  under  cover  of  the 
darkness. 

And,  while  the  sky  flamed  red  over  a  thousand  fires, 
and  the  blood  of  unhappy  Europeans,  either  civilian 
families  or  the  wives  and  children  of  military  officers, 
was  being  spilt  like  water,  where  were  the  two  regi- 
ments of  white  troops  who,  by  prompt  action,  could 
have  saved  Meerut  and  prevented  the  siege  of  Delhi  ? 

That  obvious  question  must  receive  a  strange  answer. 
They  were  bivouacked  on  their  parade-ground,  doing 
nothing.  The  General  in  command  of  the  station  was 

24 


A  Night  in  May 

a  feeble  old  man,  suffering  from  senile  decay.  His 
Brigadier,  Archdale  Wilson,  issued  orders  that  were 
foolish.  He  sent  the  Dragoons  to  guard  the  empty 
gaol!  After  a  long  delay  in  issuing  ammunition  to  the 
Rifles,  he  marched  them  and  the  gunners  to  the  deserted 
parade-ground  of  the  native  infantry.  They  found  a 
few  belated  sowars  of  the  3d  Cavalry,  who  took  refuge 
in  a  wood,  and  the  artillery  opened  fire  at  the  trees! 
News  came  that  the  rebels  were  plundering  the  British 
quarters,  and  the  infantry  went  there  in  hot  haste. 
And  then  they  halted,  though  the  mutineers  were 
crying,  "Quick,  brother,  quick!  The  white  men  are 
coming!"  and  the  scared  suggestion  went  round:  "To 
Delhi!  That  is  our  only  chance!" 

The  moon  rose  on  a  terrified  mob  trudging  or  riding 
the  forty  miles  of  road  between  Meerut  and  the  Mogul 
capital.  All  night  long  they  expected  to  hear  the  roar 
of  the  pursuing  guns,  to  find  the  sabers  of  the  Dragoons 
flashing  over  their  heads.  But  they  were  quite  safe. 
Archdale  Wilson  had  ordered  his  men  to  bivouac,  and 
they  obeyed,  though  it  is  within  the  bounds  of  probability 
that  had  the  rank  and  file  known  what  the  morrow's  sun 
would  reveal,  there  might  have  been  another  Mutiny  in 
Meerut  that  night,  a  Mutiny  of  Revenge  and  Reprisal. 

It  was  not  that  wise  and  courageous  counsel  was 
lacking.  Captain  Rosser  offered  to  cut  off  the  flight 
of  the  rebels  to  Delhi  if  one  squadron  of  his  dragoons 
and  a  few  guns  were  given  to  him.  Lieutenant  Moller, 
of  the  llth  Native  Infantry,  appealed  to  General  Hewitt 
for  permission  to  ride  alone  to  Delhi,  and  warn  the 

25 


The  Red  Year 

authorities  there  of  the  outbreak.  Sanction  was  refused 
in  both  cases.  The  bivouac  was  evidently  deemed  a 
masterpiece  of  strategy. 

That  Moller  would  have  saved  Delhi  cannot  be 
doubted.  Next  day,  finding  that  the  wife  of  a  brother 
officer  had  been  killed,  he  sought  and  obtained  evidence 
of  the  identity  of  the  poor  lady's  murderer,  traced  the 
man,  followed  him,  arrested  him  single-handed,  and 
brought  him  before  a  drumhead  court  martial,  by 
whose  order  he  was  hanged  forthwith. 

Craigie,  Rosser,  Moller,  and  a  few  other  brave  spirits 
showed  what  could  have  been  done.  But  negligence 
and  apathy  were  stronger  that  night  than  courage  or 
self-reliance.  For  good  or  ill,  the  torrent  of  rebellion 
was  suffered  to  break  loose,  and  it  soon  engulfed  a 
continent. 

Malcolm  failed  to  find  Craigie,  who  had  taken  his 
troop  in  the  direction  of  some  heavy  firing.  Passing  a 
bungalow  that  was  blazing  furiously,  he  saw  in  the 
compound  the  corpses  of  two  women.  A  little  farther 
on,  he  discovered  the  bodies  of  a  man  and  four  children 
in  the  center  of  the  road,  and  he  recognized,  in  the  man, 
a  well-known  Scotch  trader  whose  shop  was  the  largest 
and  best  in  Meerut. 

Then,  for  the  first  time,  he  understood  what  this 
appalling  thing  meant.  He  thought  of  Winifred,  and 
his  blood  went  cold.  She  and  her  uncle  were  alone  in 
that  remote  house,  far  away  on  the  Aligarh  Road,  and 
completely  cut  off  from  the  comparatively  safe  northerly 
side  of  the  station. 

26 


A  Night  in  May 

Giving  heed  to  nought  save  this  new  horror  of  his 
imagination,  he  wheeled  Nejdi,  and  rode  at  top  speed 
towards  Mr.  Mayne's  bungalow.  As  he  neared  it,  his 
worst  fears  were  confirmed.  One  wing  was  on  fire, 
but  the  flames  had  almost  burnt  themselves  out. 
Charred  beams  and  blackened  walls  showed  stark  and 
gaunt  in  the  glow  of  a  smoldering  mass  of  wreckage. 
Twice  he  rode  round  the  ruined  house,  calling  he  knew 
not  what  in  his  agony,  and  looking  with  the  eyes  of  one 
on  the  verge  of  lunacy  for  some  dread  token  of  the  fate 
that  had  overtaken  the  inmates. 

He  came  across  several  bodies.  They  were  all 
natives.  One  or  two  were  servants,  he  fancied,  but 
the  rest  were  marauders  from  the  city.  Calming  him- 
self, with  the  coolness  of  utter  despair,  he  dismounted, 
and  examined  the  slain.  Their  injuries  had  been 
inflicted  with  some  sharp,  heavy  instrument.  None  of 
them  bore  gunshot  wounds.  That  was  strange.  If 
there  was  a  fight,  and  Mayne,  perhaps  even  Winifred,, 
had  taken  part  in  the  defense,  they  must  have  used  the 
sporting  rifles  in  the  house.  And  that  suggested  an 
examination  of  the  dark  interior.  He  dreaded  the  task, 
but  it  must  not  be  shirked. 

The  porch  was  intact,  and  he  hung  Nejdi's  bridle  on 
the  hook  where  he  had  placed  it  little  more  than  an 
hour  ago.  The  spacious  drawing-room  had  been 
gutted.  The  doors  (Indian  bungalows  have  hardly 
any  windows,  each  door  being  half  glass)  were  open 
front  and  back.  The  room  was  empty,  thank  Heaven ! 
He  was  about  to  enter  and  search  the  remaining  apart- 

27 


Tlie  Red  Year 

ments  which  had  escaped  the  fire  when  a  curiously 
cracked  voice  hailed  him  from  the  foot  of  the  garden. 

"  Hallt !  Who  go  dare  ?  "  it  cried,  in  the  queer  jargon 
of  the  native  regiments. 

Malcolm  saw  a  man  hurrying  toward  him.  He 
recognized  him  as  a  pensioner  named  Syed  Mir  Khan, 
an  Afghan.  The  old  man,  a  born  fire-eater,  insisted 
on  speaking  English  to  the  sahib-log,  unless,  by  rare 
chance,  he  encountered  some  person  acquainted  with 
Pushtu,  his  native  language. 

"I  come  quick,  sahib,"  he  shouted.  "I  know  all 
things.  I  save  sahib  and  miss-sahib.  Yes,  by  dam, 
I  slewed  the  cut-heads." 

As  he  came  nearer,  he  brandished  a  huge  tulwar, 
and  the  split  skulls  and  severed  vertebrae  of  certain 
gentry  lying  in  the  garden  became  explicable.  De- 
lighted in  having  a  sahib  to  listen,  he  went  on: 

"The  mob  appearing,  I  attacked  them  with  great 
ferocity  —  yes,  like  terrible  lion,  by  George.  My 
fighting  was  immense.  I  had  many  actions  with  the 
pigs." 

At  last,  he  quieted  down  sufficiently  to  tell  Malcolm 
what  had  happened.  He,  with  others,  thinking  the 
miss-sahib  had  gone  to  church,  was  smoking  the  hookah 
of  gossip  in  a  neighboring  compound.  It  was  an  in- 
stance of  the  amazing  rapidity  with  which  the  rioters 
spread  over  the  station  that  a  number  of  them  reached 
the  Maynes'  bungalow  five  minutes  after  the  first  alarm 
was  given.  It  should  be  explained  here  that  Mr. 
Mayne,  being  a  Commissioner  of  Oudh,  was  only 

28 


A  Night  in  May 

visiting  Meerut  in  order  to  learn  the  details  of  a  system 
of  revenue  collection  which  it  was  proposed  to  adopt 
on  the  sequestered  estates  of  the  Oudh  taluqdars.  He 
had  rented  one  of  the  best  houses  in  the  place,  the 
owner  being  in  Simla,  and  Syed  Mir  Khan  held  a 
position  akin  to  that  of  caretaker  in  a  British  house- 
hold. The  looters  knew  how  valuable  were  the  contents 
of  such  an  important  residence,  and  the  earliest  con- 
tingent thought  they  would  have  matters  entirely  their 
own  way. 

As  soon  as  Malcolm  left,  however,  Mr.  Mayne  loaded 
all  his  guns,  while  Winifred  made  more  successful 
search  for  some  of  the  servants.  The  Afghan  was  true 
to  his  salt,  and  their  own  retainers,  who  had  come 
with  them  from  Lucknow,  remained  steadfast  at  this 
crisis.  Hence,  the  mob  received  a  warm  reception,  but 
the  fighting  had  taken  place  outside  the  bungalow,  the 
defenders  lining  a  wall  at  the  edge  of  the  compound. 
Indeed,  a  score  of  bodies  lying  there  had  not  been  seen 
by  Malcolm  during  his  first  frenzied  examination  of 
the  house. 

Then  an  official  of  the  Salt  Department,  driving  past 
with  his  wife  and  child,  shouted  to  Mr.  Mayne  that  he 
must  not  lose  an  instant  if  he  would  save  his  niece  and 
himself. 

"  The  sepoys  have  risen,"  was  the  horrifying  message 
he  brought.  "They  have  surprised  and  killed  all  the 
white  troops.  They  are  sacking  the  whole  station. 
You  see  the  fires  there?  That  is  their  work.  This 
road  is  clear,  but  the  Delhi  road  is  blocked." 

29 


The  Red  Year 

Some  distant  yelling  caused  the  man  to  flog  his 
horse  into  a  fast  trot  again;  and  he  and  his  weeping 
companions  vanished  into  the  gloom. 

Mayne  could  not  choose  but  believe.  Indeed,  many 
days  elapsed  before  a  large  part  of  India  would  credit 
the  fact  that  the  British  regiments  in  Meerut  had  not 
been  massacred.  A  carriage  and  pair  were  harnessed. 
Several  servants  were  mounted  on  all  the  available 
horses  and  ponies,  and  Mr.  Mayne  and  Winifred  had 
gone  down  the  Grand  Trunk  Road  towards  Buland- 
shahr  and  Aligarh. 

"  Going  half  an  hour,"  said  Syed  Mir  Khan,  volubly. 
"  I  stand  fast,  slaying  budmashes.  They  make  rush  in 
thousands,  and  I  retreat  with  great  glory.  Then  they 
put  blazes  in  bungalow." 

Now,  Malcolm  also  might  have  accepted  the  sensa- 
tional story  of  the  Salt  Department  inspector,  if,  at 
that  instant,  the  boom  of  a  heavy  gun  had  not  come 
from  the  direction  of  the  sepoy  parade-ground.  Another 
followed,  and  another,  in  the  steady  sequence  of  a 
trained  battery.  As  he  had  just  ridden  from  that  very 
spot,  which  was  then  almost  deserted,  he  was  sure  that 
the  British  troops  had  come  from  their  cantonment. 
The  discovery  that  Winifred  was  yet  living,  and  in 
comparative  safety,  cleared  his  brain  as  though  he 
had  partaken  of  some  magic  elixir.  He  knew  that 
Meerut  itself  was  now  the  safest  refuge  within  a  hun- 
dred miles.  Probably  the  bulk  of  the  mutineers  would 
strive  to  reach  Delhi,  and,  of  course,  the  dragoons  and 
artillery  would  cut  them  oft7  during  the  night.  But  he 

30 


A  Night  in  May 

had  seen  many  squads  of  rebels,  mounted  and  on  foot, 
hastening  along  the  Grand  Trunk  Road,  and  it  was 
no  secret  that  detachments  of  the  9th  Native  Infantry 
at  Bulandshahr  and  Aligarh  were  seething  .  with 
Brahminical  hatred  of  the  abhorred  cartridges. 

Each  second  he  became  more  convinced  that  Winifred 
and  her  uncle  were  being  carried  into  a  peril  far  greater 
than  that  which  they  had  escaped.  Decision  and  action 
were  the  same  thing  where  he  was  concerned.  Bidding 
the  Afghan  endeavor  to  find  Captain  Craigie,  who 
might  be  trusted  to  send  a  portion  of  his  troop  to  scour 
the  road  for  some  miles,  and  assuring  the  man  of  a  big 
reward  for  his  services,  Frank  mounted  and  galloped 
south.  He  counted  on  overtaking  the  fugitives  in  an 
hour,  and  persuading  them  to  return  with  him.  He 
rode  with  drawn  sword,  lest  he  might  be  attacked  on 
the  way,  but  it  was  a  remarkable  tribute  to  Moller's 
wisdom  in  offering  to  ride  to  Delhi  that  no  man  mo- 
lested him,  and  such  sepoys  as  he  passed  skulked  off 
into  the  fields  where  they  saw  the  glint  of  his  saber 
and  recognized  him  as  a  British  officer.  They  had  no 
difficulty  in  that  respect.  A  glorious  full  moon  was 
flooding  the  peaceful  plain  with  light.  The  trunks  of 
the  tall  trees  lining  the  road  barred  its  white  riband 
with  black  shadows,  but  Nejdi,  good  horse  that  he  was, 
felt  that  this  was  no  time  for  skittishness,  and  repressed 
the  inclination  to  jump  these  impalpable  obstacles. 

And  he  made  excellent  progress.  Eight  miles  from 
Meerut,  in  a  tiny  village  of  mud  hovels  which  horse 
and  rider  had  every  reason  to  remember,  they  suddenly 

31 


The  Red  Year 

dashed  into  a  large  company  of  mounted  men  and  a 
motley  collection  of  vehicles.  There  were  voices  raised, 
too,  in  heated  dispute,  and  a  small  crowd  was  gathered 
near  a  lumbering  carriage,  whose  tawdry  trappings 
and  display  of  gold  work  betokened  the  state  equipage 
of  some  native  dignitary. 

Drawn  up  by  its  side  was  a  European  traveling 
barouche,  empty,  but  Malcolm's  keen  eyes  soon  picked 
out  the  figures  of  Winifred  and  her  uncle,  standing  in 
the  midst  of  an  excited  crown  of  natives.  So  great  was 
the  hubbub  that  he  was  not  noticed  until  he  pulled  up. 

"I  have  come  to  bring  you  back  to  Meerut,  Mr. 
Mayne,"  he  cried.  "The  mutiny  has  been  quelled. 
Our  troops  are  in  command  of  the  station  and  of  all 
the  main  roads.  You  can  return  without  the  slightest 
risk,  I  assure  you." 

He  spoke  clearly  and  slowly,  well  knowing  that  some 
among  the  natives  would  understand  him.  His  ap- 
pearance, no  less  than  his  words,  created  a  rare  stir. 
The  clamor  of  tongues  was  stilled.  Men  looked  at 
him  as  though  he  had  fallen  from  the  sky.  He  could 
not  be  certain,  but  he  guessed,  that  he  had  arrived  at 
a  critical  moment.  Indeed,  the  lives  of  his  friends 
were  actually  in  deadliest  jeopardy,  and  there  was  no 
knowing  what  turn  the  events  of  the  next  minute  might 
have  taken.  But  a  glance  at  Winifred's  distraught 
face  told  him  a  good  deal.  He  must  be  bold,  with  the 
careless  boldness  of  the  man  who  has  the  means  of 
making  his  will  respected. 

"Stand  aside,  there!"  he  said  in  Hindustani.  "And 
32 


A  Night  in  May 

you  had  better  clear  the  roadway.     A  troop  of  cavalry 
is  riding  fast  behind." 

He  dismounted,  drew  Nejdi's  bridle  over  his  left 
arm,  and  went  towards  Winifred.  The  girl  looked  at 
him  with  a  wistfulness  that  was  pititul.  Hope  was 
struggling  in  her  soul  against  the  fear  of  grim  death. 

"Oh,  Frank!"  she  sighed,  holding  out  both  her 
hands,  "Oh,  Frank,  I  am  so  frightened.  We  had  a 
dreadful  time  at  the  bungalow,  and  these  men  look  so 
fierce  and  cruel !  Have  you  really  brought  help  ?  " 

"Yes,"  he  said  confidently.  "You  need  have  no 
further  anxiety.  Please  get  into  your  carriage." 

Mr.  Mayne  said  something,  but  Malcolm  never  knew 
what  it  was,  for  Winifred  fainted,  and  would  have 
fallen  had  he  not  caught  her. 

"  This  Feringhi  has  a  loud  voice,"  a  man  near  him 
growled.  "  He  talks  of  cavalry.  Where  are  they  ?  " 

"  The  Meerut  road  is  empty,"  commented  another. 

"  We  have  the  Begum's  order,"  said  the  first  speaker, 
more  loudly.  "  Let  us  obey,  or  it  may  be  an  evil  thing 
for  us." 

"One  of  the  daughters  of  Bahadur  Shah  is  here," 
murmured  Mayne  rapidly.  "She  says  we  are  to  be 
taken  to  Delhi,  and  slain  if  we  resist.  Where  are  your 
men?  My  poor  niece!  To  think  that  I  should  have 
brought  her  from  England  for  this!" 

Malcolm,  still  holding  Winifred's  unconscious  form 
clasped  to  his  breast,  laughed  loudly. 

"  Mayne-sahib  tells  me  that  you  have  all  gone  mad," 
he  shouted  in  the  vernacular.  "Have  you  no  ears? 

33 


The  Red  Year 

Did  you  not  hear  the  British  artillery  firing  on  the 
rebels  a  little  time  since  ?  Ere  day  breaks  the  road  to 
Delhi  will  be  held  by  the  white  troops.  What  foolish 
talk  is  this  of  taking  Mayne-sahib  thither  as  a 
prisoner  ?  " 

The  door  of  the  bedizened  traveling-coach  was  flung 
open,  and  the  Mohammedan  lady  who  had  befriended 
Frank  when  he  fell  into  the  moat  appeared.  She 
alighted,  and  her  aggressive  servants  drew  away 
somewhat. 

"It  is  my  order,"  she  said  imperiously.  "Who  are 
you  that  you  should  dispute  it  ?  " 

"  I  regret  the  heat  of  my  words,  Princess,"  he  replied, 
grasping  the  frail  chance  that  presented  itself  of  wrig- 
gling out  of  a  desperate  situation.  "  Nevertheless,  it  is 
true  that  the  native  regiments  at  Meerut  have  been 
dispersed,  and  you  yourself  may  have  heard  the  guns 
as  they  advanced  along  the  Delhi  road.  W7hy  should 
I  be  here  otherwise  ?  I  came  to  escort  my  friends  back 
to  Meerut." 

The  Princess  came  nearer.  In  the  brilliant  moonlight 
she  had  an  unearthly  beauty  —  at  once  weird  and 
Sybilline  —  but  her  animated  features  were  chilled 
with  disdain,  and  she  pointed  to  the  girl  whose  pallid 
face  lay  against  Frank's  shoulder. 

"You  are  lying,"  she  said.  "You  are  not  the  first 
man  who  has  lied  for  a  woman's  sake.  That  is  why 
you  are  here." 

"  Princess,  I  have  spoken  nothing  but  the  truth,"  he 
answered.  "If  you  still  doubt  my  word,  let  some  of 

34 


A  Night  in  May 

your  men  ride  back  with  us.  They  will  soon  convince 
you.  Perchance,  the  information  may  not  be  without 
its  value  to  you  also." 

The  thrust  was  daring,  but  she  parried  it  adroitly. 

"No  matter  what  has  happened  in  Meerut,  the  des- 
tined end  is  the  same,"  she  retorted.  Then  she  fired 
into  subdued  passion.  "  The  British  Raj  is  doomed," 
she  muttered,  lowering  her  voice,  and  bringing  her 
magnificent  eyes  close  to  his.  "  It  is  gone,  like  an  evil 
dream.  Listen,  Malcolm-sahib.  You  are  a  young 
man,  and  ambitious.  They  say  you  are  a  good  soldier. 
Come  with  me.  I  want  some  one  I  can  trust.  Though 
I  am  a  king's  daughter,  there  are  difficulties  in  my  path 
that  call  for  a  sword  in  the  hands  of  a  man  not  afraid 
to  use  it.  Come !  Let  that  weakling  girl  go  where  she 
lists  —  I  care  not.  I  offer  you  life,  and  wealth,  and  a 
career.  She  will  lead  you  to  death.  What  say  you? 
Choose  quickly.  I  am  now  going  to  Delhi,  and  to- 
morrow's sun  shall  see  my  father  a  king  in  reality  as 
well  as  in  name." 

Malcolm's  first  impression  was  that  the  Princess  had 
lost  her  senses.  He  had  yet  to  learn  how  completely 
the  supporters  of  the  Mogul  dynasty  were  convinced  of 
the  approaching  downfall  of  British  supremacy  in  India. 
But  his  active  brain  fastened  on  to  two  considerations 
of  exceeding  importance.  By  temporizing,  by  mislead- 
ing this  arrogant  woman,  if  necessary,  he  might  not 
only  secure  freedom  for  Winifred  and  Mayne,  but 
gather  most  valuable  information  as  to  the  immediate 
plans  of  the  rebels. 

35 


The  Red  Year 

"Your  words  are  tempting  to  a  soldier  of  fortune, 
Princess,"  he  said. 

"Malcolm—"  broke  in  Mayne,  who,  of  course, 
understood  all  that  passed. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake  do  not  interfere,"  said  Frank  in 
English.  "Suffer  my  friends  to  depart,  Princess,"  he 
went  on  in  Persian.  "It  is  better  so.  Then  I  shall 
await  your  instructions." 

"  Ah,  you  agree,  then  ?  That  is  good  hearing.  Yes, 
your  white  doll  can  go,  and  the  gray-beard,  too.  Ere 
many  days  have  passed  there  will  be  no  place  for  them 
in  all  India." 

A  commotion  among  the  ring  of  soldiers  and  servants 
interrupted  her.  The  stout,  important-looking  man 
whom  Malcolm  had  seen  in  the  hunting  lodge  on  the 
occasion  of  his  ducking,  came  towards  them  with  hurried 
strides.  The  Princess  seemed  to  be  disconcerted  by  his 
arrival.  Her  expressive  face  betrayed  her.  Sullen 
anger,  not  unmixed  with  fear,  robbed  her  of  her  good 
looks.  Her  whole  aspect  changed.  She  had  the  cowed 
appearance  of  one  of  her  own  serving-women. 

"Remember!"  she  murmured.  "You  must  obey 
me,  none  else.  Come  when  I  send  for  you ! " 

The  man,  who  now  carried  on  his  forehead  the 
insignia  of  a  Brahmin,  had  no  sooner  reached  the  small 
space  between  the  carriages  than  Mr.  Mayne  cried 
delightedly  to  Malcolm: 

"  Why,  if  this  is  not  Nana  Sahib !  Here  is  a  piece  of 
good  luck!  I  know  him  well.  If  he  has  any  control 
over  this  mob,  we  are  perfectly  safe." 


A  Night  in  May 

Nana  Sahib  acknowledged  the  Commissioner's  greet- 
ing with  smiling  politeness.  But  first  he  held  a  whis- 
pered colloquy  with  the  Princess,  whom  he  entreated,  or 
persuaded,  to  re-enter  her  gorgeous  vehicle.  She  drove 
away  without  another  glance  at  Malcolm.  Perhaps  she 
did  not  dare  to  show  her  favor  in  the  newcomer's  presence. 

Then  Nana  Sahib  turned  to  the  Europeans. 

"Let  the  miss-sahib  be  placed  in  her  carriage,"  he 
said  suavely.  "She  will  soon  revive  in  the  air,  and 
we  march  at  once  for  Aligarh.  Will  you  accept  my 
escort  thus  far,  Mayne-sahib,  or  farther  south,  if  you 
wish  it?  I  think  you  will  be  safer  with  me  than  in 
taking  the  Meerut  road  to-night." 

Mayne  agreed  gladly.  The  commanding  influence 
of  this  highly-placed  native  nobleman,  who,  despite 
an  adverse  decision  of  the  Government,  was  regarded 
by  every  Mahratta  as  Peishwa,  the  ruler  of  a  vast 
territory  in  Western  India,  seemed  to  offer  more  stable 
support  that  night  than  the  broken  reed  of  British 
authority  in  Meerut.  Moreover,  the  Commissioner 
wished  to  reach  Lucknow  without  delay.  If  the  country 
were  in  for  a  period  of  disturbance,  his  duty  lay  there, 
and  he  was  planning  already  to  send  Winifred  to 
Calcutta  from  Cawnpore,  and  thence  to  England  until 
the  time  of  political  trouble  had  passed. 

"  I  am  sure  I  am  doing  right,"  he  said  in  answer  to 
Frank's  remonstrances.  "Don't  you  understand,  a 
native  in  Nana  Sahib's  position  must  be  well  informed 
as  to  the  exact  position  of  affairs.  By  helping  me  he 
is  safeguarding  himself.  I  am  only  too  thankful  he 

37 


The  Red  Year 

was  able  to  subdue  that  fiery  harpy,  the  Begum.  She 
threatened  me  in  the  most  outrageous  manner  before 
you  came.  Of  course,  Winifred  and  I  will  be  ever- 
lastingly grateful  to  you  for  coming  to  our  assistance. 
You  are  alone,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes,  though  some  of  our  troopers  may  turn  up  any 
minute." 

*  I  fear  not,"  said  the  older  man  gravely.  "  This  is 
a  bad  business,  Malcolm.  The  Begum  said  too  much. 
There  are  worse  times  in  store  for  us.  Do  you  really 
believe  you  can  reach  Meerut  safely  ?  " 

"  I  rode  here  without  hindrance." 

"  Let  me  advise  you,  then,  to  slip  away  before  we  start. 
That  woman  meant  mischief,  or  she  would  never  have 
dared  to  suggest  that  a  British  officer  should  throw  in  his 
lot  with  hers.  Waste  no  time,  and  don't  spare  that  good 
horse  of  yours.  Be  sure  I  shall  tell  Winifred  all  you 
have  done  for  us.  She  is  pulling  round,  I  think,  and 
it  will  be  better  that  she  should  not  see  you  again. 
Besides,  the  Nana's  escort  are  preparing  to  march." 

Frank's  latest  memory  of  the  girl  he  loved  was  a  sad 
one.  Her  white  face  looked  ethereal  in  the  moonlight, 
and  her  bloodless  lips  were  quivering  with  returning 
life.  It  was  hard  to  leave  her  in  such  a  plight,  but  it 
would  only  unnerve  her  again  if  he  waited  until  she 
was  conscious  to  bid  her  farewell. 

So  he  rode  back  to  Meerut,  a  solitary  European  on 
the  eight  miles  of  road,  and  no  man  challenged  him  till 
he  reached  the  famous  bivouac  of  the  white  garrison, 
the  bivouac  that  made  the  Mutiny  an  accomplished  fact. 

38 


CHAPTER  III 

HOW   BAHADUR  SHAH   PROCLAIMED    HIS   EMPIRE 

ON  the  morning  of  the  llth,  the  sun  that  laid  bare 
the  horrors  of  Meerut  shone  brightly  on  the  placid 
splendor  of  Delhi.  This  great  city,  the  Rome  of  Asia, 
was  also  the  Metz  of  Upper  India,  its  old-fashioned 
though  strong  defenses  having  been  modernized  by  the 
genius  of  a  Napier.  Resting  on  the  Jumna,  it  might 
best  be  described  as  of  half-moon  shape,  with  the 
straight  edge  running  north  and  south  along  the  right 
bank  of  the  river. 

In  the  center  of  the  river  line  stood  the  imposing 
red  sandstone  palace  of  Bahadur  Shah,  last  of  the 
Moguls.  North  of  this  citadel  were  the  magazine,  the 
Church,  some  European  houses,  and  the  cutcherry,  or 
group  of  minor  law  courts,  while  the  main  thorough- 
fare leading  in  that  direction  passed  through  the 
Kashmir  Gate.  Southward  from  the  fort  stretched  the 
European  residential  suburb  known  as  Darya  Gunj 
(or,  as  it  would  be  called  in  England,  the  "Riverside 
District")  out  of  which  the  Delhi  Gate  gave  access  to 
the  open  country  and  the  road  to  Humayun's  Tomb. 
Another  gate,  the  Raj  Ghat,  opened  toward  the 
river  between  the  palace  and  Darya  Gunj.  Thus,  the 

39 


The  Red  Year 

walls  of  city  and  palace  ran  almost  straight  for  two 
miles  from  the  Kashmir  Gate  on  the  north  to  the 
Delhi  Gate  on  the  south,  while  the  main  road  connecting 
the  two  passed  the  fort  on  the  landward  side. 

The  Lahore  Gate  of  the  palace,  a  magnificent  struc- 
ture, commanded  the  bazaar  and  its  chief  street,  the 
superb  Chandni  Chowk,  which  extended  due  west  for 
nearly  two  miles  to  the  Lahore  Gate  of  the  city  itself. 
Near  the  palace,  in  a  very  large  garden,  stood  the 
spacious  premises  of  the  Delhi  Bank.  A  little  farther 
on,  but  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  Chowk,  was  the 
Kotwallee,  or  police  station,  and  still  farther,  practi- 
cally in  the  center  of  the  dense  bazaar,  two  stone 
elephants  marked  the  entrance  to  the  beautiful  park 
now  known  as  the  Queen's  Gardens. 

The  remainder  of  the  space  within  the  walls  was 
packed  with  the  houses  and  shops  of  well-to-do  traders, 
and  the  lofty  tenements  or  mud  hovels  in  which  dwelt 
a  population  of  artisans  noted  not  only  for  their  artistic 
skill  but  for  a  spirit  of  lawlessness,  a  turbulent  fanati- 
cism, that  had  led  to  many  scenes  of  violence  in  the 
city's  earlier  history. 

The  whole  of  Delhi,  as  well  as  the  palace  —  which 
had  its  own  separate  fortifications  —  was  surrounded 
by  a  wall  seven  miles  long,  twenty-four  feet  in  height, 
well  supplied  with  bastions,  and  containing  ten  huge 
gates,  each  a  small  fort  in  itself.  The  wall  was  pro- 
tected by  a  dry  fosse,  or  ditch,  twenty-five  feet  wide 
and  about  twenty  feet  deep;  this,  in  turn,  was  guarded 
by  a  counterscarp  and  glacis. 

40 


How  Bahadur  Shah  Proclaimed  his  Empire 

On  the  northwest  side  of  Delhi,  and  about  a  mile  dis- 
tant from  the  river,  an  irregular,  rock-strewn  spine  of 
land,  called  the  Ridge,  rose  above  the  general  level  of 
the  plain,  and  afforded  a  panoramic  view  of  the  city  and 
palace.  The  rising  ground  began  about  half  a  mile 
from  the  Mori  Gate  —  which  was  situated  on  what 
may  be  termed  the  landward  side  of  the  Kashmir  Gate. 
It  followed  a  course  parallel  with  the  river  for  two  miles, 
and  at  its  northerly  extremity  were  situated  the  principal 
European  bungalows  and  the  military  cantonment. 

Delhi  was  the  center  of  Mohammedan  hopes;  its 
palace  held  the  lineal  descendant  of  Aurangzebe,  with 
his  children  and  grandchildren;  it  was  stored  to  reple- 
tion with  munitions  of  war;  yet,  such  was  the  incon- 
ceivable folly  of  the  rulers  of  India  at  that  time,  the 
nearest  British  regiments  were  stationed  in  Meerut, 
while  the  place  swarmed  with  native  troops,  horse, 
foot  and  artillery! 

A  May  morning  in  the  Punjab  must  not  be  confused 
with  its  prototype  in  Britain.  Undimmed  by  cloud, 
unchecked  by  cooling  breeze,  the  sun  scorches  the 
earth  from  the  moment  his  glowing  rays  first  peep  over 
the  horizon.  Thus  men  who  value  their  health  and 
have  work  to  be  done  rise  at  an  hour  when  London's 
streets  are  emptiest.  Merchants  were  busy  in  the 
bazaar,  soldiers  were  on  parade,  judges  were  sitting  in 
the  courts  of  the  cutcherry,  and  the  European  house- 
wives of  the  station  were  making  their  morning  pur- 
chases of  food  for  breakfast  and  dinner,  when  some  of 
the  loungers  on  the  river-side  wall  saw  groups  of 

41 


The  Red  Year 

horsemen  raising  the  dust  on  the  Meerut  road  beyond 
the  bridge  of  boats  which  spanned  the  Jumna. 

The  word  went  round  that  something  unusual  had 
happened.  Already  the  idlers  had  noted  the  arrival 
of  a  dust-laden  royal  carriage,  which  crossed  the  pon- 
toons at  breakneck  speed  and  entered  by  the  Calcutta 
Gate.  That  incident,  trivial  in  itself,  became  important 
when  those  hard-riding  horsemen  came  in  sight.  The 
political  air  was  charged  with  electricity.  None  knew 
whether  it  would  end  in  summer  lightning  or  in  a 
tornado,  so  there  was  much  running  to  and  fro,  and 
gesticulations,  and  excited  whisperings  among  those 
watchers  on  the  walls. 

vague  murmurs  of  doubt  and  surprise  reached  the 
ears  of  two  of  the  British  magistrates.  They  hurriedly 
adjourned  the  cases  they  were  trying  and  sent  for 
their  horses.  One  rode  hard  to  the  cantonment  and 
told  Brigadier  Graves  what  he  had  seen  and  heard; 
the  other,  knowing  the  immense  importance  of  the 
chief  magazine,  went  there  to  warn  Lieutenant  Will- 
oughby,  the  officer  in  charge. 

Here,  then,  in  Delhi,  were  men  of  prompt  decision, 
but  the  troops  on  whom  they  could  have  depended 
were  forty  miles  away  in  Meerut,  in  that  never-to-be- 
forgotten  bivouac.  Meanwhile,  the  vanguard  of  the 
Meerut  rebels  had  arrived.  Mostly  troopers  of  Mal- 
colm's regiment,  with  some  few  sepoys  who  had  stolen 
ponies  on  the  way,  they  crossed  the  Jumna,  some 
going  straight  to  the  palace  by  way  of  the  bridge  of 
boats,  while  others  forded  the  river  to  the  south  and 

42 


How  Bahadur  Shah  Proclaimed  his  Empire 

made  for  the  gaol,  where,  as  usual,  they  released  the 
prisoners.  This  trick  of  emptying  the  penitentiaries 
was  more  adroit  than  it  seems  at  first  sight.  Not  only 
were  the  mutineers  sure  of  obtaining  hearty  assistance 
in  their  campaign  of  robbery  and  murder,  but  every 
gaol-bird  headed  direct  for  his  native  town  as  soon  as 
he  was  gorged  with  plunder.  There  was  no  better 
means  of  disseminating  the  belief  that  the  British 
power  had  crumbled  to  atoms.  The  convicts  boasted 
that  they  had  been  set  free  by  the  rebels;  they  paraded 
their  ill-gotten  gains  and  incited  ignorant  villagers  to 
emulate  the  example  of  the  towns.  Thus  a  skilful 
and  damaging  blow  was  struck  at  British  prestige. 
Neither  Mohammedan  moullah  nor  Hindu  fakir  carried 
such  conviction  to  ill-informed  minds  as  the  appearance 
of  some  known  malefactor  decked  out  in  the  jewels 
and  trinkets  of  murdered  Englishwomen. 

The  foremost  of  the  mutineers  reined  in  their  weary 
horses  beneath  a  balcony  on  which  Bahadur  Shah,  a 
decrepit  old  man  of  eighty,  awaited  them. 

By  his  side  stood  his  youngest  daughter,  the  Roshinara 
Begum.  Her  eyes  were  blazing  with  triumph,  yet  her 
lips  curved  with  contempt  at  the  attitude  of  her  tremb- 
ling father. 

"You  see!"  she  cried.  "Have  I  not  spoken  truly? 
These  are  the  men  who  sacked  Meerut.  Scarce  a 
Feringhi  lives  there  save  those  whom  I  have  saved  to 
good  purpose.  Admit  your  troops !  Proclaim  yourself 
their  ruler.  A  moment's  firmness  will  win  back  your 
empire." 

43 


The  Red  Year 

The  aged  monarch,  now  that  the  hour  was  at  hand 
that  astrologers  had  predicted  and  his  courtiers  had 
promised  for  many  a  year,  faltered  his  dread  lest  they 
were  not  all  committing  a  great  mistake. 

"This  is  no  woman's  work,"  he  protested.  "Where 
are  my  sons  ?  Where  is  the  Shahzada,  Mirza  Mogul  ?  " 

She  knew.  The  heir  apparent  and  his  brothers  were 
cowering  in  fear,  afraid  to  strike,  yet  hoping  that 
others  would  strike  for  them.  She  almost  dragged  her 
father  to  the  front  of  the  balcony.  The  troopers 
recognized  him  with  a  fierce  shout.  A  hundred  sabers 
were  waved  frantically. 

"Help  us,  O  King!"  they  cried.  "We  pray  your 
help  in  our  fight  for  the  faith!" 

Captain  Douglas,  commandant  of  the  palace  guards, 
hearing  the  uproar  ran  to  the  King.  He  did  not  notice 
the  girl  Roshinara,  who  stood  there  like  a  caged 
tigress. 

"How  dare  you  intrude  on  the  King's  privacy?" 
he  cried,  striving  to  overawe  the  rebels  by  his  cool 
demeanor.  "You  must  lay  down  your  arms  if  you 
wish  His  Majesty's  clemency.  He  is  here  in  person 
and  that  is  his  command." 

A  yell  of  defiance  greeted  his  bold  words.  The 
Begum  made  a  signal  with  her  hand  which  was  promptly 
understood.  Away  clattered  the  troopers  towards  the 
Raj  Ghat  Gate.  There  they  were  admitted  without 
parley.  The  city  hell  hounds  sprang  to  meet  them 
and  the  slaughter  of  inoffensive  Europeans  began  in 
Darya  Gunj. 

44 


How  Bahadur  Shah  Proclaimed  his  Empire 

It  was  soon  in  full  swing.  The  vile  deeds  of  the  night 
at  Meerut  were  re-enacted  in  the  vivid  sunlight  at 
Delhi.  Leaving  their  willing  allies  to  carry  sword  and 
torch  through  the  small  community  in  that  quarter  the 
sowars  rode  to  the  Lahore  Gate  of  the  palace.  It  was 
thrown  open  by  the  King's  guards  and  dependents. 
Captain  Douglas,  and  the  Commissioner,  Mr.  Fraser, 
made  vain  appeals  to  men  whose  knees  would  have 
trembled  at  their  frown  a  few  minutes  earlier.  Think- 
ing to  escape  and  summon  assistance  from  the  canton- 
ment, Douglas  mounted  the  wall  and  leaped  into  the 
moat.  He  broke  one,  if  not  both,  of  his  legs.  Some 
scared  coolies  lifted  him  and  carried  him  back  to  the 
interior  of  the  palace.  Fraser  tried  to  protect  him 
while  he  was  being  taken  to  his  apartments  over  the 
Lahore  Gate,  but  a  jeweler  from  the  bazaar  stabbed 
the  Commissioner  and  he  was  killed  by  the  guards. 
Then  the  mob  rushed  up-stairs  and  massacred  the 
collector,  the  chaplain,  the  chaplain's  daughter,  a  lady 
who  was  their  guest,  and  the  injured  Douglas. 

Another  dreadful  scene  was  enacted  in  the  Delhi 
Bank.  The  manager  and  his  brave  wife,  assisted  by 
a  few  friends  who  happened  to  be  in  the  building  at 
the  moment,  made  a  stubborn  resistance,  but  they  were 
all  cut  down.  The  masters  in  the  Government  col- 
leges were  surprised  and  murdered  in  their  class-rooms. 
The  missionaries,  whether  European  or  native,  were 
slaughtered  in  their  houses  and  schools.  The  editorial 
staff  and  compositors  of  the  Delhi  Gazette,  having  just 
produced  a  special  edition  of  the  paper  announcing 

45 


The  Red  Year 

the  crisis,  were  all  stabbed  or  bludgeoned  to  death. 
In  the  telegraph  office  a  young  signaler  was  sending  a 
thrilling  message  to  Umballa,  Lahore  and  the  north. 

"The  sepoys  have  come  in  from  Meerut,"  he  an- 
nounced with  the  slow  tick  of  the  earliest  form  of 
apparatus.  "  They  are  burning  everything.  Mr.  Todd 
is  dead,  and,  we  hear,  several  Europeans.  We  must 
shut  up." 

That  was  his  requiem.  The  startled  operators  at 
Umballa  could  obtain  no  further  intelligence  and  the 
boy  was  slain  at  his  post.1 

The  magistrate  who  galloped  to  the  cantonment 
found  no  laggards  there.  Brigadier  Graves  sent  Colonel 
Ripley  with  part  of  the  54th  Native  Infantry  to  occupy 
the  Kashmir  Gate.  The  remainder  of  the  54th  escorted 
two  guns  under  Captain  de  Teissier. 

Ripley  reached  the  main  guard,  just  within  the  gate, 
when  some  troopers  of  the  3d  rode  up.  The  Colonel 
ordered  his  men  to  fire  at  them.  The  sepoys  refused 
to  obey,  and  the  sowars,  drawing  their  pistols,  shot 
dead  or  severely  wounded  six  British  officers.  Then 
the  54th  bayoneted  their  Colonel,  but,  hearing  the 
rumble  of  de  Teissier's  guns,  fled  into  the  city.  The 
guard  of  the  gate,  composed  of  men  of  the  38th,  went 
with  them,  but  their  officer,  Captain  Wallace,  had 
ridden,  fortunately  for  himself,  to  hurry  the  guns.  He 

1  This  statement  is  made  on  the  authority  of  Holmes's  "History 
of  the  Indian  Mutiny,"  Cave-Browne's  "  The  Punjab  &  Delhi,"  and 
"  The  Punjab  Mutiny  Report,"  though  it  is  claimed  that  William 
Brendish,  who  is  still  living,  was  on  duty  at  the  Delhi  Telegraph  Office 
throughout  the  night  of  May  10th. 

46 


How  Bahadur  Shah  Proclaimed  his  Empire 

was  sent  on  to  the  cantonment  to  ask  for  re-enforcements. 
Not  a  man  of  the  38th  would  follow  him,  but  the  74th 
commanded  by  Major  Abbott,  proclaimed  their  loyalty 
and  asked  to  be  led  against  the  mutineers. 

Perforce  their  commander  trusted  them.  He  brought 
them  to  the  Kashmir  Gate  with  two  more  guns,  while 
the  Brigadier  and  his  staff,  wondering  why  they  heard 
nothing  of  the  pursuing  British  from  Meerut,  thought  it 
advisable  to  gather  the  women  and  children  and  other 
helpless  persons,  both  European  and  native,  in  the 
Flagstaff  Tower,  a  small  building  situated  on  the 
northern  extremity  of  the  Ridge. 

There  for  some  hours  a  great  company  of  frightened 
people  endured  all  the  discomforts  of  terrific  heat, 
hunger,  and  thirst,  while  wives  and  mothers,  striving 
to  soothe  their  wailing  little  ones,  were  themselves 
consumed  with  anxiety  as  to  the  fate  of  husbands  and 
sons. 

At  the  main  guard  there  was  a  deadlock.  Major 
Abbott  and  his  brother  officers,  trying  to  keep  their 
men  loyal,  stood  fast  and  listened  to  the  distant  turmoil 
in  the  city.  Like  the  soldiers  in  Meerut,  they  never 
guessed  a  tithe  of  the  horrors  enacted  there.  They 
were  sure  that  the  white  troops  in  Meerut  would  soon 
arrive  and  put  an  end  to  the  prevalent  anarchy.  Yet 
the  day  sped  and  help  came  not. 

Suddenly  the  sound  of  a  tremendous  explosion  rent 
the  air  and  a  dense  cloud  of  white  smoke,  succeeded 
by  a  pall  of  dust,  rose  between  the  gate  and  the  palace. 
Willoughby  had  blown  up  the  magazine !  Why  ?  Two* 

47 


The  Red  Year 

artillery  subalterns  who  had  fought  their  way  through 
a  mob  stricken  with  panic  for  the  moment,  soon  arrived. 
Their  story  fills  one  of  the  great  pages  of  history. 

Lieutenant  Willoughby,  a  boyish-looking  subaltern 
of  artillery,  whose  shy,  refined  manners  hid  a  heroic 
soul,  lost  no  time  in  making  his  dispositions  for  the 
defense  of  the  magazine  when  he  knew  that  a  mutiny 
was  imminent.  He  had  with  him  eight  Englishmen, 
Lieutenants  Forrest  and  Raynor,  Conductors  Buckley, 
Shaw  and  Scully,  Sub-Conductor  Crow,  and  Sergeants 
Edwards  and  Stewart.  The  nine  barricaded  the  outer 
gates  and  placed  in  the  best  positions  guns  loaded 
with  grape.  They  laid  a  train  from  the  powder  store 
to  a  tree  in  the  yard.  Scully  stood  there.  He  promised 
to  fire  the  powder  when  his  young  commander  gave 
the  signal. 

Then  they  waited.  A  stormy  episode  was  taking 
place  inside  the  fort.  Bahadur  Shah  held  out  against 
the  vehement  urging  of  his  daughter  aided  now  by  the 
counsel  of  her  brothers.  Ever  and  anon  he  went  to 
the  river  balcony  which  afforded  a  view  of  the  Meerut 
road.  At  last  he  sent  mounted  men  across  the  river. 
When  these  scouts  returned  and  he  was  quite  certain 
that  none  but  rebel  sepoys  were  streaming  towards 
Delhi  from  Meerut,  he  yielded. 

The  surrender  of  the  magazine  was  demanded  in  his 
name.  His  adherents  tried  to  rush  the  gate  and  walls, 
and  were  shot  down  in  scores.  The  attack  grew  more 
furious  and  sustained.  The  white  men  served  their 
smoking  cannon  with  a  wild  energy  that,  for  a  time, 

48 


How  Bahadur  Shah  Proclaimed  his  Empire 

made  the  gallant  nine  equal  to  a  thousand.  Of  course 
such  a  struggle  could  have  only  one  end.  Willoughby, 
in  his  turn,  ran  to  the  river  bastion.  Like  the  king, 
he  looked  towards  Meerut.  Like  the  king,  he  saw 
none  but  mutineers.  Then,  when  the  enemy  were 
clambering  over  the  walls  and  rushing  into  the  little 
fort  from  all  directions,  he  raised  his  sword  and  looked 
at  Conductor  Buckley.  Buckley  lifted  his  hat,  the 
agreed  signal,  and  Scully  fired  the  train.  Hundreds  of 
rebels  were  blown  to  pieces,  as  they  were  already 
inside  the  magazine.  Scully  was  killed  where  he  stood. 
Willoughby  leaped  from  the  walls,  crossed  the  river, 
and  met  his  death  while  striving  to  reach  Meerut. 
Lieutenants  Forrest  and  Raynor,  Conductors  Buckley 
and  Shaw,  and  Sergeant  Stewart  escaped,  and  were 
given  the  Victoria  Cross. 

Yet,  so  curiously  constituted  is  the  native  mind,  the 
blowing-up  of  the  magazine  was  the  final  tocsin  of 
revolt.  It  seemed  to  place  beyond  doubt  that  which 
all  men  were  saying.  The  king  was  fighting  the 
English.  Islam  was  in  the  field  against  the  Nazarene. 
The  Mogul  Empire  was  born  again  and  the  iron  grip 
of  British  rule  was  relaxed.  At  once  the  sepoys  at  the 
Kashmir  Gate  fired  a  volley  at  the  nearest  officers,  of 
whom  three  fell  dead. 

Two  survivors  rushed  up  the  bastion  and  jumped 
into  the  ditch.  Others,  hearing  the  shrieks  of  some 
women  in  the  guard  room,  poor  creatures  who  had 
escaped  from  the  city,  ran  through  a  hail  of  bullets  and 
got  them  out.  Fastening  belts  and  handkerchiefs 

49 


The  Red  Year 

together,  the  men  lowered  the  women  into  the  fosse 
and,  with  extraordinary  exertions,  lifted  them  up  the 
opposite  side. 

At  the  Flagstaff  Tower  the  74th  and  the  remainder 
of  the  38th  suddenly  told  their  officers  that  they  would 
obey  them  no  longer.  When  this  last  shred  of  hope 
was  gone,  the  Brigadier  reluctantly  gave  the  order  to 
retreat.  The  women  and  children  were  placed  in 
carriages  and  a  mournful  procession  began  to  straggle 
through  the  deserted  cantonment  along  the  Alipur 
Road. 

Soon  the  fugitives  saw  their  bungalows  on  fire. 
"Then,"  says  that  accurate  and  impartial  historian  of 
the  Mutiny,  Mr.  T.  R.  E.  Holmes,  "  began  that  piteous 
flight,  the  first  of  many  such  incidents  which  hardened 
the  hearts  of  the  British  to  inflict  a  terrible  revenge. 
.  .  .  Driven  to  hide  in  jungles  or  morasses  from  de- 
spicable vagrants  —  robbed,  and  scourged,  and  mocked 
by  villagers  who  had  entrapped  them  with  promises  of 
help  —  scorched  by  the  blazing  sun,  blistered  by 
burning  winds,  half-drowned  in  rivers  which  they  had 
to  ford  or  swim  across,  naked,  weary  and  starving, 
they  wandered  on;  while  some  fell  dead  by  the  wayside, 
and  others,  unable  to  move  farther,  were  abandoned 
by  their  sorrowing  friends  to  die  on  the  road." 

In  such  wise  did  the  British  leave  Imperial  Delhi. 
They  came  back,  later,  but  many  things  had  to  happen 
meanwhile. 

The  volcanic  outburst  in  the  Delhi  district  might 
have  been  paralleled  farther  north  were  not  the  Punjab 

50 


How  Bahadur  Shah  Proclaimed  his  Empire 

fortunate  in  its  rulers.  Sir  John  Lawrence  was  Chief 
Commissioner  at  Lahore.  When  that  fateful  telegram 
from  Delhi  was  received  in  the  capital  of  the  Punjab 
he  was  on  his  way  to  Murree,  a  charming  and  secluded 
hill  station,  for  the  benefit  of  his  health.  But,  like 
most  great  men,  Lawrence  had  the  faculty  of  surround- 
ing himself  with  able  lieutenants. 

His  deputy,  Robert  Montgomery,  whose  singularly 
benevolent  aspect  concealed  an  iron  will,  saw  at  once 
that  if  the  Punjab  followed  the  lead  of  Meerut  and 
Delhi,  India  would  be  lost.  Lahore  had  a  mixed 
population  of  a  hundred  thousand  Sikhs  and  Moham- 
medans, born  soldiers  every  man,  and  ready  to  take 
any  side  that  promised  to  settle  disputes  by  cold  steel 
rather  than  legal  codes.  If  these  hot  heads,  with  their 
millions  of  co-religionists  in  the  land  of  the  Five  Rivers, 
were  allowed  to  gain  the  upper  hand,  they  would  sweep 
through  the  country  from  the  mountains  to  the  sea. 

The  troops,  British  and  native,  were  stationed  in  the 
cantonment  of  Mian-mir,  some  five  miles  from  Lahore. 
There  were  one  native  cavalry  regiment  and  three 
native  infantry  battalions  whose  loyalty  might  be 
measured  by  minutes  as  soon  as  they  learnt  that  the 
standard  of  Bahadur  Shah  was  floating  over  the  palace 
at  Delhi.  To  quell  them  the  authorities  had  the  81st 
Foot  and  two  batteries  of  horse  artillery,  or,  propor- 
tionately, far  less  a  force  than  that  at  Meerut,  the 
Britons  being  outnumbered  eight  times  by  the  natives. 

Montgomery  coolly  drove  to  Mian-mir  on  the  morn- 
ing of  the  12th,  took  counsel  with  the  Brigadier,  Stuart 

51 


The  Red  Year 

Corbett,  and  made  his  plans.  A  ball  was  fixed  for 
that  night.  All  society  attended  it,  and  men  who  knew 
that  the  morrow's  sun  might  set  on  a  scene  of  bloodshed 
and  desolation  danced  gaily  with  the  ladies  of  Lahore. 
Surely  those  few  who  were  in  the  secret  of  the  scheme 
arranged  by  Montgomery  and  Corbett  must  have 
thought  of  a  more  famous  ball  at  Brussels  on  a  June 
night  in  1815. 

Next  morning  the  garrison  fell  in  for  a  general  parade 
of  all  arms.  The  artillery  and  81st  were  on  the  right 
of  the  line,  the  native  infantry  in  the  center,  and  the 
sowars  on  the  left.  A  proclamation  by  Government 
announcing  the  disbandment  of  the  34th  at  Barrack- 
pore  was  read,  and  may  have  given  some  inkling  of 
coming  events  to  the  more  thoughtful  among  the  sepoys. 
But  they  had  no  time  for  secret  murmurings.  Maneu- 
vers began  instantly.  In  a  few  minutes  the  native 
troops  found  themselves  confronted  by  the  81st  and 
the  two  batteries  of  artillery. 

Riding  between  the  opposing  lines,  the  Brigadier 
told  the  would-be  mutineers  that  he  meant  to  save 
them  from  temptation  by  disarming  them. 

"Pile  arms!"  came  the  resolute  command. 

They  hesitated.  The  intervening  space  was  small. 
By  sheer  weight  of  numbers  they  could  have  borne 
down  the  British. 

"  Eighty-first  —  load ! "  rang  out  the  ominous  order. 

As  the  ears  of  the  startled  men  caught  the  ring  of  the 
ramrods  in  the  Enfield  rifles,  their  eyes  saw  the  lighted 
port  fires  of  the  gunners.  They  were  trapped,  and 

52 


How  Bahadur  Shah  Proclaimed  his  Empire 

they  knew  it.  They  threw  down  their  weapons  with 
sullen  obedience  and  the  first  great  step  towards  the 
re-conquest  of  India  was  taken. 

Inspired  by  Montgomery  the  district  officers  at 
Umritsar,  Mooltan,  Phillour,  and  many  another  Euro- 
pean center  in  the  midst  of  warlike  and  impetuous 
races,  followed  his  example  and  precept.  Brigadier 
Innes  at  Ferozpore  hesitated.  He  tried  half  measures. 
He  separated  his  two  native  regiments  and  thought  to 
disarm  them  on  the  morrow.  That  night  one  of  them 
endeavored  to  storm  the  magazine,  burnt  and  plun- 
dered the  station,  and  marched  off  towards  Delhi. 
But  Innes  then  made  amends.  He  pursued  and  dis- 
persed them.  Only  scattered  remnants  of  the  corps 
reached  the  Mogul  capital. 

Thus  Robert  Montgomery,  the  even-tempered,  suave, 
smooth-spoken  Deputy  Commissioner  of  Lahore!  In 
the  far  north,  at  Peshawur,  four  other  men  of  action 
gathered  in  conclave.  The  gay,  imaginative,  earnest- 
minded  Herbert  Edwardes,  the  hard-headed  veteran, 
Sydney  Cotton,  the  dashing  soldier,  Neville  Chamber- 
lain, and  the  lustrous-eyed,  black-bearded,  impetuous 
giant,  John  Nicholson  —  that  genius  who  at  thirty-five 
had  already  been  deified  by  a  brotherhood  of  Indian 
fakirs  and  placed  by  Mohammedans  among  the  legen- 
dary heroes  of  their  faith  —  these  four  sat  in  council 
and  asked,  "  How  best  shall  we  serve  England  ?  " 

They  answered  that  question  with  their  swords. 


53 


CHAPTER  IV 

ON  THE  WAY  TO   CAWNPORE 

IN  Meerut  reigned  that  blessed  thing,  Pax  Britan- 
nica,  otherwise  known  as  the  British  bulldog.  But 
the  bulldog  was  kept  on  the  chain  and  peace  obtained 
only  within  his  kennel.  Malcolm,  deprived  of  his 
regiment,  gathered  under  his  command  a  few  young 
civilians  who  were  eager  to  act  as  volunteer  cavalry, 
and  was  given  a  grudging  permission  to  ride  out  to 
the  isolated  bungalows  of  some  indigo  planters,  on  the 
chance  that  the  occupants  might  have  defended  them- 
selves successfully  against  the  rioters. 

In  each  case  the  tiny  detachment  discovered  black- 
ened walls  and  unburied  corpses.  The  Meerut  district 
abounded  with  Goojers,  the  hereditary  thieves  of  India, 
and  these  untamed  savages  had  lost  none  of  their 
wild-beast  ferocity  under  fifty  years  of  British  rule. 
They  killed  and  robbed  with  an  impartiality  that  was 
worthy  of  a  better  cause.  When  Europeans,  native 
travelers  and  mails  were  swept  out  of  existence  they 
fought  each  other.  Village  boundaries  which  had  been 
determined  under  Wellesley's  strong  government  at  the 
beginning  of  the  century  were  re-arranged  now  with 
matchlock,  spear  and  tulwar.  Old  feuds  were  settled 
in  the  old  way  and  six  inches  of  steel  were  more  potent 

54 


On  the  Way  to  Cawnpore 

than  the  longest  Order  in  Council.  Yet  these  ghouls 
fled  at  the  sight  of  the  smallest  white  force,  and  Malcolm 
and  his  irregulars  rode  unopposed  through  a  blood- 
stained and  deserted  land. 

On  the  21st  of  May,  eleven  days  after  the  outbreak 
of  the  Mutiny,  though  never  a  dragoon  or  horse  gunner 
had  left  Meerut  cantonment  since  they  marched  back 
to  their  quarters  from  the  ever-memorable  bivouac, 
Malcolm  led  his  light  horsemen  north,  along  the  Grand 
Trunk  Road  in  the  direction  of  Mazuffernugger. 

A  native  brought  news  that  a  collector  and  his  wife 
were  hiding  in  a  swamp  near  the  road.  Happily,  in 
this  instance,  the  two  were  rescued,  more  dead  than 
alive.  The  man,  ruler  of  a  territory  as  big  as  the 
North  Riding  of  Yorkshire,  his  wife,  a  young  and 
well-born  Englishwoman,  were  in  the  last  stage  of 
misery.  The  unhappy  lady,  half  demented,  was  nurs- 
ing a  dead  baby.  When  the  child  was  taken  from  her 
she  fell  unconscious  and  had  to  be  carried  to  Meerut 
on  a  rough  litter. 

The  little  cavalcade  was  returning  slowly  to  the 
station1  when  one  of  the  troopers  caught  the  hoof  beats 
of  a  galloping  horse  behind  them.  Malcolm  reined  up, 
and  soon  a  British  officer  appeared  round  a  bend  in 
the  road.  Mounted  on  a  hardy  countrybred,  and 
wearing  the  semi-native  uniform  of  the  Company's 
regiments,  the  aspect  of  the  stranger  was  sufficiently 
remarkable  to  attract  attention  apart  from  the  fact  that  he 

1  In  India  the  word  "  station  "  denotes  any  European  settlement 
outside  the  three  Presidency  towns.  In  1857  there  were  few  railways 
in  the  country. 

55 


The  Red  Year 

came  absolutely  alone  from  a  quarter  where  it  was 
courting  death  to  travel  without  an  escort.  He  was 
tall  and  spare  of  build,  with  reddish  brown  hair  and 
beard,  blue  eyes  that  gleamed  with  the  cold  fire  of 
steel,  close-set  lips,  firm  chin,  and  the  slightly-hooked 
nose  with  thin  nostrils  that  seems  to  be  one  of  nature's 
tokens  of  the  man  born  to  command  his  fellows  when 
the  strong  arm  and  clear  brain  are  needed  in  the 
battle-field. 

He  rode  easily,  with  a  loose  rein,  and  he  waved  his 
disengaged  hand  the  instant  he  caught  sight  of  the 
white  faces. 

"Are  you  from  Meerut?"  he  asked,  his  voice  and 
manner  conveying  a  curious  blend  of  brusqueness  and 
gentility,  as  his  tired  horse  willingly  pulled  up  alongside 
Nejdi. 

"  Yes.  And  you  ?  "  said  Malcolm,  trying  to  conceal 
his  amazement  at  this  apparition. 

"I  am  Lieutenant  Hodson  of  the  1st  Bengal  Fusi- 
liers. I  have  ridden  from  Kurnaul,  where  the  Com- 
mander-in-Chief  is  waiting  until  communication  is 
opened  with  Meerut.  Where  is  General  Hewitt?" 

"I  will  take  you  to  him?  From  Kurnaul,  did  you 
say  ?  When  did  you  start  ?  " 

"About  this  hour  yesterday." 

Malcolm  knew  then  that  this  curt-spoken  cavalier 
had  ridden  nearly  a  hundred  miles  through  an  enemy's 
country  in  twenty-four  hours. 

"  Is  your  horse  equal  to  another  hour's  canter  ?  "  he 
inquired. 

56 


"  He  ought  to  be.  I  took  him  from  a  bunniah  when 
my  own  fell  dead  in  a  village  about  ten  miles  in  the 
rear." 

Bidding  a  young  bank  manager  take  charge  of  the 
detachment,  Frank  led  the  newcomer  rapidly  to  head- 
quarters. Hodson  asked  a  few  questions  and  made 
his  companion's  blood  boil  by  the  unveiled  contempt 
he  displayed  on  hearing  of  the  inaction  at  Meerut. 

"You  want  Nicholson  here,"  said  he,  laughing  with 
grim  mirth.  "By  all  the  gods,  he  would  horsewhip 
your  general  into  the  saddle." 

"Hewitt  is  an  old  man,  and  cautious,  therefore," 
explained  Frank,  in  loyal  defense  of  his  chief.  "Per- 
haps he  deems  it  right  to  await  the  orders  you  are  now 
bringing." 

"  An  old  man !  You  mean  an  old  woman,  perhaps  ? 
I  come  from  one.  I  had  to  go  on  my  knees  almost 
before  I  could  persuade  Anson  to  let  me  start." 

"  Well,  you  must  admit  that  you  have  made  a  daring 
and  lucky  ride?" 

"Nonsense!  Why  is  one  a  soldier!  I  would  cross 
the  infernal  regions  if  the  need  arose.  If  I  had  been 
in  Meerut  on  that  Sunday  evening,  no  general  that  ever 
lived  could  have  kept  me  out  of  Delhi  before  daybreak. 
The  way  to  stop  this  mutiny  was  to  capture  that 
doddering  old  king  and  hold  him  as  a  hostage,  and 
twenty  determined  men  could  have  done  it  easily  in 
the  confusion." 

That  was  William  Hodson's  way.  Men  who  met 
him  began  by  disliking  his  hectoring,  supercilious 

57 


The  Red  Year 

bearing.  They  soon  learnt  to  forget  his  gruffness  and 
think  only  of  his  gallantry  and  good-comradeship. 

At  any  rate  his  stirring  advice  and  the  dispatches 
he  brought  roused  the  military  authorities  at  Meerut 
into  activity.  Carrying  with  him  a  letter  to  the  Com- 
mander-in-Chief  he  quitted  Meerut  again  that  night, 
and  dismounted  outside  Anson's  tent  at  Kurnaul  at 
dawn  on  the  second  day! 

On  the  27th,  Archdale  Wilson  led  the  garrison 
towards  the  rendezvous  fixed  on  by  the  force  hurriedly 
collected  in  the  Punjab  for  the  relief  of  Delhi.  On 
the  afternoon  of  the  30th,  cavalry  vedettes  reported 
the  presence  of  a  strong  body  of  mutineers  on  the  right 
bank  of  the  river  Hindun,  near  the  village  of  Ghazi-ud- 
din  Nuggur  and  at  a  place  where  a  high  ridge  com- 
manded an  iron  suspension  bridge.  It  was  found 
afterwards  that  the  rebels  meant  to  fight  the  two 
British  forces  in  detail  before  they  could  effect  a  junc- 
tion. The  generalship  of  the  idea  was  good,  but  the 
sepoys  did  not  count  on  the  pent-up  wrath  of  the 
British  soldiers,  who  were  burning  to  avenge  their 
murdered  countrymen  and  dishonored  countrywomen, 
for  it  was  now  becoming  known  that  many  a  fair 
English  lady  had  met  a  fate  worse  than  death  ere 
sword  or  bullet  stilled  her  anguish. 

A  company  of  the  60th  Rifles  dashed  forward  to 
seize  the  bridge,  Lieutenant  Light  and  his  men  took 
up  the  enemy's  challenge  with  their  heavy  eighteen- 
pounders,  and  Colonel  Mackenzie  and  Major  Tombs, 
at  the  head  of  two  batteries  of  horse  artillery,  crossed 

58 


On  the  Way  to  Cawnpore 

the  river  and  turned  the  left  flank  of  the  sepoy  force. 
Then  the  Rifles  extended  and  charged,  the  mutineers 
yielded,  and  Colonel  Custance  with  his  dragoons 
sabered  them  mercilessly  for  some  miles. 

Next  morning,  Whit-Sunday,  while  the  chaplains 
were  conducting  the  burial  service  over  those  who  had 
fallen,  the  mutineers  came  out  of  Delhi  again.  A 
severe  action  began  instantly.  Tombs  had  two  horses 
shot  under  him,  and  thirteen  out  of  fifty  men  in  his 
battery  were  killed  or  wounded.  But  the  issue  was 
never  in  doubt.  After  three  hours'  hard  fighting  the 
rebels  broke  and  fled.  So  those  men  in  Meerut  could 
give  a  good  account  of  themselves  when  permitted! 
Actually,  they  won  the  two  first  battles  of  the  campaign. 

Exhausted  by  two  days'  strenuous  warfare  in  the 
burning  sun,  they  could  not  take  up  the  pursuit.  The 
men  were  resting  on  the  field  when  a  battalion  of 
Ghoorkahs,  the  little  fighting  men  of  Nepaul,  arrived 
under  the  command  of  Colonel  Reid.  They  had 
marched  by  way  of  Bulandshahr,  and  Malcolm  heard 
to  his  dismay  that  the  native  infantry  detatchment 
stationed  there,  aided  by  the  whole  population  of  the 
district,  had  committed  the  wildest  excesses. 

Yet  Winifred  and  her  uncle  had  passed  through  that 
town  on  the  road  to  Cawnpore.  Aligarh,  too,  was  in 
flames,  said  Reid,  and  there  was  no  communication 
open  with  Agra,  the  seat  of  Government  for  the  North- 
West  Provinces.  There  was  a  bare  possibility  that  the 
Maynes  might  have  reached  Agra,  or  that  Nana  Sahib 
had  protected  them  for  his  own  sake.  Such  sleiider 

59 


The  Red  Year 

hopes  brought  no  comfort.  Black  despair  sat  in 
Malcolm's  heart  until  the  Brigadier  sent  for  him  and 
ordered  him  to  take  charge  of  the  guard  that  would 
escort  the  records  and  treasure  from  Meerut  to  Agra. 
He  hailed  this  dangerous  mission  with  gloomy  joy. 
Love  had  no  place  in  a  soldier's  life,  he  told  himself. 
Henceforth  he  must  remember  Winifred  only  when 
his  sword  was  at  the  throat  of  some  wretched  mutineer 
appealing  for  mercy. 

He  went  to  his  tent  to  supervise  the  packing  of  his 
few  belongings.  His  bearer,1  a  Punjabi  Mohammedan, 
who  cursed  the  sepoys  fluently  for  disturbing  the 
country  during  the  hot  weather,  handed  him  a  note 
which  had  been  brought  by  a  camp  follower. 

It  was  written  in  Persi-Arabic  script,  a  sort  of  Arabic 
shorthand  that  demands  the  exercise  of  time  and 
patience  ere  it  can  be  deciphered  by  one  not  thoroughly 
acquainted  with  it.  Thinking  it  was  a  request  for 
employment  which  he  could  not  offer,  Malcolm  stuffed 
it  carelessly  into  a  pocket.  He  rode  to  Meerut,  placed 
himself  at  the  head  of  the  8th  Irregular  Cavalry,  a 
detachment  whose  extraordinary  fidelity  has  already 
been  narrated,  and  set  forth  next  morning  with  his 
train  of  bullock  carts  and  their  escort. 

He  called  the  first  halt  in  the  village  where  he  had 
parted  from  Winifred.     The  headman  professed  him- 
self unable  to  give  any  information,  but  the  application 
of  a  stirrup  leather  to  his  bare  back  while  his  wrists 
were  tied  to  a  cart  wheel  soon  loosened  his  tongue. 
1  A  personal  servant,  often  valet  and  waiter  combined. 
60 


On  the  Way  to  Cawnpore 

The  king's  hunting  lodge  was  empty,  he  whined; 
and  the  Roshinara  Begum  had  gone  to  Delhi.  Nana 
Sahib's  cavalcade  went  south  soon  after  the  Begum's 
departure,  and  a  moullah  had  told  him,  the  headman, 
that  the  Nana  had  hastened  through  Aligarh  on  his 
way  to  Cawnpore,  not  turning  aside  to  visit  Agra, 
which  was  fifty  miles  down  the  Bombay  branch  of  the 
Grand  Trunk  Road. 

Malcolm  drew  a  negative  comfort  from  the  moullah's 
tale.  That  night  he  encamped  near  a  fair-sized  village 
which  was  ominously  denuded  of  men.  Approaching 
a  native  hut  to  ask  for  a  piece  of  charcoal  wherewith 
to  light  a  cigar,  he  happened  to  look  inside.  To  his 
very  great  surprise  he  saw,  standing  in  a  corner,  a 
complete  suit  of  European  armor,  made  of  tin,  it  is 
true,  but  a  sufficiently  bewildering  "  find  "  in  a  Goojer 
hovel. 

A  woman  came  running  from  a  neighbor's  house. 
While  giving  him  the  charcoal  she  hastily  closed  the 
rude  door.  She  pretended  not  to  understand  him  when 
he  sought  an  explanation  of  the  armor,  whereupon 
he  seized  her,  and  led  her,  shrieking,  among  his  own 
men.  The  commotion  brought  other  villagers  on  the 
scene,  as  he  guessed  it  would.  A  few  fierce  threats, 
backed  by  a  liberal  display  of  naked  steel,  quickly 
evoked  the  curious  fact  that  nearly  all  the  able-bodied 
inhabitants  "had  gone  to  see  the  sahib-log1  dance." 

Even  Malcolm's  native  troops  were  puzzled  by  this 
story,  but  a  further  string  of  terrifying  words  and 
1 A  generic  term  for  Europeans. 
61 


The  Red  Year 

more  saber  flourishing  led  to  a  direct  statement  that 
the  white  people  who  were  to  "dance"  had  been 
captured  near  the  village  quite  a  week  earlier  and 
imprisoned  in  a  ruined  tomb  about  a  mile  from  the 
road.  It  was  risky  work  to  leave  the  valuable  convoy 
for  an  instant,  but  Malcolm  felt  that  he  must  probe 
this  mystery.  Taking  half  a  dozen  men  with  him,  and 
compelling  the  woman  to  act  as  guide,  he  went  to  the 
tomb  in  the  dark. 

The  building,  a  mosque-like  structure  of  considerable 
size,  was  situated  in  the  midst  of  a  grove  of  mango 
trees.  A  clear  space  in  front  of  the  tomb  was  lighted 
with  oil  lamps  and  bonfires.  It  was  packed  with  up- 
roarious natives,  and  Malcolm's  astonished  gaze  rested 
on  three  European  acrobats  doing  some  feat  of  balanc- 
ing. A  clown  was  cracking  jokes  in  French,  some  nuns 
were  singing  dolefully,  and  a  trio  of  girls,  wearing  the 
conventional  gauze  and  spangles  of  circus  riders,  were 
standing  near  a  couple  of  piebald  ponies. 

He  and  his  men  dashed  in  among  the  audience  and 
the  Goojers  ran  for  dear  life  when  they  caught  sight 
of  a  sahib  at  the  head  of  an  armed  party.  The  per- 
formers and  the  nuns  nearly  died  of  fright,  believing 
that  their  last  hour  had  surely  come.  But  they  soon 
recovered  from  their  fear  only  to  collapse  more  com- 
pletely from  joy.  A  French  circus,  it  appeared,  had 
camped  near  a  party  of  nuns  in  the  village  on  the 
main  road,  and  were  captured  there  when  the  news 
came  that  the  English  were  swept  out  of  existence. 
Most  fortunately  for  themselves  the  nuns  were  regarded 

62 


On  the  Way  to  Cawnpore 

as  part  of  the  show,  and  the  villagers,  after  robbing 
all  of  them,  penned  them  in  the  mosque  and  made 
them  give  a  nightly  performance.  There  were  five 
men  and  three  women  in  the  circus  troupe,  and  among 
the  four  nuns  was  the  grave  reverend  mother  of  a 
convent. 

Malcolm  brought  them  to  the  village  and  caused  it 
to  be  made  known  that  unless  every  article  of  value 
and  every  rupee  in  money  stolen  from  these  unfortu- 
nate people,  together  with  a  heavy  fine,  were  brought 
to  him  by  day  break,  he  would  not  only  fire  each  hut 
and  destroy  the  standing  crops,  but  he  would  also  hang 
every  adult  male  belonging  to  the  place  he  could  lay 
hands  on. 

These  hereditary  thieves  could  appreciate  a  man 
who  spoke  like  that.  They  met  him  fairly  and  paid 
in  full.  When  the  convoy  moved  off,  even  that  amazing 
suit  of  armor,  which  was  used  for  the  state  entry  of 
the  circus  into  a  town,  was  strapped  on  to  the  back  of 
a  trick  pony. 

The  nuns,  he  ascertained,  were  coming  from  Fate- 
garh  to  Umballa  and  they  had  met  the  great  retinue 
of  Nana  Sahib  below  Aligarh.  With  him  were  two 
Europeans,  a  young  lady  and  an  elderly  gentleman, 
but  they  were  traveling  so  rapidly  that  it  was  impossible 
to  learn  who  they  were  or  whither  they  were  going. 

Here,  then,  was  really  good  news.  Like  every  other 
Englishman  in  India  Malcolm  believed  that  the  Mutiny 
was  confined  to  a  very  small  area,  of  which  his  own 
station  was  the  center.  He  thought  that  if  Winifred 

63 


The  Red  Year 

and  her  uncle  reached  Cawnpore  they  would  be  quite 
safe. 

He  brightened  up  so  thoroughly  that  he  quite  enjoyed 
a  sharp  fight  next  day  when  the  budmashes  of  Buland- 
shahr  regarded  the  straggling  convoy  as  an  easy  prey. 

There  were  three  or  four  such  affairs  ere  they  reached 
Agra,  and  his  Frenchmen  proved  themselves  to  be 
soldiers  as  well  as  acrobats.  On  the  evening  of  the 
2d  of  June  he  marched  his  cavalcade  into  the  splendid 
fortress  immortalized  by  its  marble  memorials  of  the 
great  days  of  the  Mogul  empire. 

The  fact  that  a  young  subaltern  had  brought  a 
convoy  from  Meerut  was  seized  on  by  the  weak  and 
amiable  John  Colvin,  Lieutenant  Governor  of  the 
North-West  Provinces,  as  a  convincing  proof  of  his 
theory  that  the  bulk  of  the  native  army  might  be 
trusted,  and  that  order  would  soon  be  restored.  Each 
day  he  was  sending  serenely  confident  telegrams  to 
Calcutta  and  receiving  equally  reassuring  ones  from 
a  fatuous  Viceroy.  It  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty 
that  his  wiser  subordinates  got  him  to  disarm  the 
sepoy  regiments  in  Agra  itself.  He  vehemently  assured 
the  Viceroy  that  the  worst  days  of  the  outbreak  were 
over  and  issued  a  proclamation  offering  forgiveness  to 
all  mutineers  who  gave  up  their  arms,  "except  those 
who  had  instigated  others  to  revolt,  or  taken  part  in 
the  murder  of  Europeans." 

Such  a  man  was  sure  to  regard  Malcolm's  bold 
journey  from  the  wrong  point  of  view.  So  delighted 
was  he  that  he  gave  the  sowars  two  months'  pay, 

64 


On  the  Way  to  Cawnpore 

lauded  Malcolm  in  the  Gazette,  and  forthwith  despatched 
him  on  a  special  mission  to  General  Sir  Hugh  Wheeler 
at  Cawnpore,  to  whom  he  recommended  Frank  for 
promotion  and  appointment  as  aide-de-camp. 

This  curious  sequence  of  events  led  to  Malcolm's 
following  Winifred  Mayne  along  the  road  she  had 
taken  exactly  three  weeks  earlier.  The  route  to  Cawn- 
pore lay  through  Etawah,  a  place  where  revolt  had 
already  broken  out,  but  which  had  been  evacuated  by 
the  mutineers,  who,  like  those  at  Aligarh,  Bulandshahr, 
Mainpuri,  Meerut,  and  a  score  of  other  towns,  ran  off 
to  Delhi  after  butchering  all  the  Europeans  within 
range. 

With  a  small  escort  of  six  troopers,  his  servant,  and 
two  pack-horses,  he  traveled  fast.  As  night  was  falling 
on  June  4th,  he  re-entered  the  Grand  Trunk  Road 
some  three  miles  north  of  Bithoor,  where,  all  unknown 
to  him,  Nana  Sahib's  splendid  palace  stood  on  the 
banks  of  the  Ganges. 

It  was  his  prudent  habit  to  halt  in  small  villages 
only.  Towns  might  be  traversed  quickly  without  much 
risk,  as  even  the  tiniest  display  of  force  insured  safety, 
but  it  was  wise  not  to  permit  the  size  of  his  escort  to 
be  noted  at  leisure,  when  a  surprise  attack  might  be 
made  in  the  darkness. 

Therefore,  expecting  to  arrive  at  Cawnpore  early 
next  day,  he  elected  not  to  push  on  to  Bithoor,  and 
proposed  to  pass  the  night  under  the  branches  of  a 
great  pipal  tree.  Chumru,  his  Mohammedan  bearer, 
was  a  good  cook,  in  addition  to  his  many  other  acquire- 

65 


The  Red  Year 

ments.  Having  purchased,  or  made  his  master  pay 
for,  which  is  not  always  the  same  thing  in  India,  a 
small  kid  (by  which  please  understand  a  young  goat) 
in  the  village,  he  lit  a  fire,  slew  the  kid,  to  the  accom- 
paniment of  an  appropriate  verse  from  the  Koran, 
and  compounded  an  excellent  stew. 

A  native  woman  brought  some  chupatties  and  milk, 
and  Malcolm,  being  sharp  set  with  hunger,  ate  as  a 
man  can  only  eat  when  he  is  young,  and  in  splendid 
health,  and  has  ridden  hard  all  day. 

He  had  a  cigar  left,  too,  and  he  was  searching  his 
pockets  for  a  piece  of  paper  to  light  it  when  he  brought 
forth  that  Persi-Arabic  letter  which  reached  him  at 
the  close  of  the  second  battle  of  Ghazi-ud-din  Nuggur. 

He  was  on  the  point  of  rolling  it  into  a  spill,  but 
some  subtle  influence  stopped  him.  He  rose,  walked 
to  Chumru's  fire,  and  lit  the  cigar  with  a  burning  stick. 
Then  summoning  a  smart  young  jemadar  with  whom 
he  had  talked  a  good  deal  during  the  journey,  he  asked 
him  to  read  the  chit.  The  woman  who  supplied  the 
chupatties  fetched  a  tiny  lamp.  She  held  it  while  the 
trooper  bent  over  the  strange  scrawl,  and  ran  his  eyes 
along  it  to  learn  the  context. 

And  this  is  what  he  read: 

"  To  all  whom  it  may  concern  —  Be  it  known  that 
Malcolm-sahib,  late  of  the  Company's  3d  Regiment  of 
Horse,  is  a  friend  of  the  heaven-born  princess  Roshinara 
Begum,  and,  provided  he  comes  to  the  palace  at  Delhi 
within  three  days  from  the  date  hereof,  he  is  to  be  given 
safe  conduct  by  all  who  owe  allegiance  to  the  Light  of 

66 


On  the  Way  to  Cawnpore 

the  World,  the  renowned  King  of  Kings  and  lord  of  all 
India,  Bahadur  Shah,  Fuzl-Ilahi,  Panah-i-din." 

The  trooper  scowled.  Those  concluding  words  — 
"  By  the  grace  of  God,  Defender  of  the  Faith "  — 
perhaps  touched  a  sore  place,  for  he,  too,  was  a  true 
believer. 

"  You  are  a  long  way  from  Delhi,  sahib,  and  the  chit 
is  a  week  old.  I  suppose  you  did  not  pay  the  expected 
visit  to  her  Highness  the  Begum  ?  "  he  said. 

"  If  you  are  talking  of  the  Begum  Roshinara,  daughter 
of  the  King  of  Delhi,"  put  in  the  woman,  who  was 
ready  enough  to  indulge  in  a  gossip  with  these  good- 
looking  soldiers,  "  she  passed  through  this  place  to-day." 

"Surely  you  are  telling  some  idle  tale  of  the  bazaar," 
said  Malcolm. 

"No,  sahib.  My  brother  is  a  grass-cutter  in  the 
Nana's  stables.  While  I  was  at  the  well  this  morning 
a  carriage  came  down  the  road.  It  was  a  rajah's 
carriage,  and  there  were  men  riding  before  and  behind. 
I  asked  my  brother  if  he  had  seen  it,  and  he  said  that 
it  brought  the  Begum  to  Bithoor,  where  she  is  to  wed 
the  Nana." 

"What!  A  Mohammedan  princess  marry  a  Brah- 
min!" 

"  It  may  be  so,  sahib.  They  say  these  great  people 
do  not  consider  such  things  when  there  is  aught  to  be 
gained." 

"  But  what  good  purpose  can  this  marriage  serve  ?  " 

The  woman  looked  up  at  Malcolm  under  her  long 
eyelashes. 

67 


The  Red  Year 

"Where  have  you  been,  sahib,  that  you  have  not 
heard  that  the  sepoys  have  proclaimed  the  Nana  as 
King  ?  "  she  asked  timidly. 

"King!    Is  he  going  to  fight  the  Begum's  lather?" 

"  I  know  not,  sahib,  but  Delhi  is  far  off,  and  Cawn- 
pore  is  near.  Perchance  they  may  both  be  kings." 

A  man's  voice  called  from  the  darkness,  and  the 
woman  hurried  away.  Malcolm,  of  course,  was  in  a 
position  to  appraise  the  accuracy  of  her  story.  He 
knew  that  the  Nana,  a  native  dignitary  with  a  grievance 
against  the  Government,  was  a  guest  of  Bahadur  Shah 
a  month  before  the  Mutiny  broke  out,  and  was  at  the 
Meerut  hunting  lodge  on  the  very  night  of  its  inception. 
Judging  by  Princess  Roshinara's  words,  her  relations 
with  the  Brahmin  leader  were  far  from  lover-like. 
What,  then,  did  this  sudden  journey  to  Cawnpore 
portend?  Was  Sir  Hugh  Wheeler  aware  of  the  pro- 
posed marriage,  with  all  the  terrible  consequences  that 
it  heralded  ?  At  any  rate,  his  line  of  action  was  clear. 

"  Get  the  men  together,  Akhab  Khan,"  he  said  to 
the  jemadar.  "We  march  at  once." 

Within  five  minutes  they  were  on  the  road.  There 
was  no  moon,  and  the  trees  bordering  both  sides  of  the 
way  made  the  darkness  intense.  The  still  atmosphere, 
too,  was  almost  overpowering.  The  dry  earth,  sun- 
baked to  a  depth  of  many  feet,  was  giving  off  its  store 
of  heat  accumulated  during  the  day.  The  air  seemed 
to  be  quivering  as  though  it  were  laden  with  the  fumes 
of  a  furnace.  It  was  a  night  when  men  might  die  or 
go  mad  under  the  mere  strain  of  existence.  Its  very 

68 


On  the  Way  to  Cawnpore 

languor  was  intoxicating.  Nature  seemed  to  brood  over 
some  wild  revel.  A  fearsome  thunderstorm  or  howling 
tornado  of  dust  might  reveal  her  fickleness  of  mood  at 
any  moment. 

It  was  man,  not  the  elements,  that  was  destined  to 
war  that  night.  The  small  party  of  horsemen  were 
riding  through  the  scattered  houses  of  Bithoor,  and 
had  passed  a  brilliantly  lighted  palace  which  Malcolm 
took  to  be  the  residence  of  Nana  Sahib,  when  they 
were  suddenly  ordered  to  halt.  Some  native  soldiers, 
not  wearing  the  Company's  uniform,  formed  a  line 
across  the  road.  Malcolm,  drawing  his  sword,  ad- 
vanced towards  them. 

"  Whose  troops  are  you  ?  "  he  shouted. 

There  was  no  direct  answer,  but  a  score  of  men, 
armed  with  muskets  and  bayonets,  and  carrying  a 
number  of  lanterns,  came  nearer.  It  must  be  remem- 
bered that  Malcolm,  a  subaltern  of  the  3d  Cavalry, 
wore  a  turban  and  sash.  He  spoke  Urdu  exceedingly 
well,  and  it  was  difficult  in  the  gloom  to  recognize  him 
as  a  European. 

"We  have  orders  to  stop  and  examine  all  wayfar- 
ers— "  began  some  man  in  authority;  but  a  lifted 
lantern  revealed  Frank's  white  face;  instantly  several 
guns  were  pointed  at  him. 

"Follow  me!"  he  cried  to  his  escort. 

A  touch  of  the  spurs  sent  Nejdi  with  a  mighty  bound 
into  the  midst  of  the  rabble  who  held  the  road.  Mal- 
colm bent  low  in  the  saddle  and  a  scattered  volley 
revealed  the  tree-shrouded  houses  in  a  series  of  bright 

69 


The  Red  Year 

flashes.  Fortunately,  under  such  conditions,  there  is 
more  room  to  miss  than  to  hit.  None  of  the  bullets 
harmed  horse  or  man,  and  the  sowars  were  not  quite 
near  enough  to  be  in  the  line  of  fire.  After  a  quick 
sweep  or  two  with  his  sword,  Malcolm  saw  that  his 
men  were  laying  about  them  heartily.  A  pack-horse, 
however,  had  stumbled,  bringing  down  the  animal 
ridden  by  Chumru,  the  bearer.  To  save  his  faithful 
servant  Frank  wheeled  Nejdi,  and  cut  down  a  native 
who  was  lunging  at  Chumru  with  a  bayonet. 

More  shots  were  fired  and  a  sowar  T  >s  wounded. 
He  fell,  shouting  to  his  comrades  for  help.  A  general 
melee  ensued.  The  troopers  slashed  at  the  men  on 
foot  and  the  sepoys  fired  indiscriminately  at  any  one 
on  horseback.  The  uproar  was  so  great  and  the 
fighting  so  strenuous  that  Malcolm  did  not  hear  the 
approach  of  a  body  of  cavalry  until  a  loud  voice  bawled : 

"Why  should  brothers  slay  brothers?  Cease  your 
quarreling,  in  the  name  of  the  faith!  Are  there  not 
plenty  of  accursed  Feringhis  on  whom  to  try  your 
blades?" 

Then  the  young  officer  saw,  too  late,  that  he  was 
surrounded  by  a  ring  of  steel.  Yet  he  strove  to  rally 
his  escort,  got  four  of  the  men  to  obey  his  command, 
and,  placing  himself  in  front,  led  them  at  the  vague 
forms  that  blocked  the  road  to  Cawnpore.  In  the 
confusion,  he  might  have  cut  his  way  through  had 
not  Nejdi  unfortunately  jumped  over  a  wounded  man 
at  the  instant  Frank  was  aiming  a  blow  at  a  sowar. 
His  sword  swished  harmlessly  in  the  air,  and  his  adver- 

70 


On  the  Way  to  Cawnpore 

sary,  hitting  out  wildly,  struck  the  Englishman's  head 
with  the  forte  of  his  saber.  The  violent  shock  dazed 
Malcolm  for  a  second,  but  all  might  yet  have  been 
well  were  it  not  for  an  unavoidable  accident.  A  sepoy's 
bayonet  became  entangled  in  the  reins.  In  the  effort 
to  free  his  weapon  the  man  gave  such  a  tug  to  the  bit 
on  the  near  side  that  the  Arab  crossed  his  fore-legs 
and  fell,  throwing  his  rider  violently.  Frank  landed 
fairly  on  his  head.  His  turban  saved  his  neck,  but 
could  not  prevent  a  momentary  concussion.  For  a 
while  he  lay  as  one  dead. 

When  he  came  to  his  senses  he  found  that  his  arms 
were  tied  behind  his  back,  that  he  had  been  carried 
under  a  big  tree,  and  that  a  tall  native,  in  the  uniform 
of  a  subadar  of  the  2d  Bengal  Cavalry,  was  holding  a 
lantern  close  to  his  face. 

"  I  am  an  officer  of  the  3d  Cavalry,"  he  said,  trying 
to  rise.  "Why  do  you,  a  man  in  my  own  service, 
suffer  me  to  be  bound  ?  " 

"You  are  no  officer  of  mine,  Feringhi,"  was  the 
scornful  reply.  "You  are  safely  trussed  because  we 
thought  it  better  sport  to  dangle  you  from  a  bough 
than  to  stab  you  where  you  dropped.  Quick,  there, 
with  that  heel-rope,  Abdul  Huq.  We  have  occupation. 
Let  us  hang  this  crow  here  to  show  other  Nazarenes 
what  they  may  expect.  And  we  have  no  time  to  lose. 
The  Nana  may  appear  at  any  moment." 


71 


CHAPTER  V 

A  WOMAN   INTERVENES 

THAT  ominous  order  filled  Malcolm's  soul  with  a 
fierce  rage.  He  was  not  afraid  of  death.  The  wine 
of  life  ran  too  strongly  in  his  veins  that  craven  fear 
should  so  suddenly  quell  the  excitement  of  the  combat 
that  had  ended  thus  disastrously.  But  his  complete 
helplessness  —  the  fact  that  he  was  to  be  hanged  like 
some  wretched  felon  by  men  wearing  the  uniform  of 
which  he  had  been  so  proud  —  these  things  stirred  him 
to  the  verge  of  frenzy. 

Oddly  enough,  in  that  moment  of  anguish  he  thought 
of  Hodson,  the  man  who  rode  alone  from  Kurnaul  to 
Meerut.  Why  had  Hodson  succeeded?  Would  Hod- 
son,  knowing  the  exceeding  importance  of  his  mission, 
have  turned  to  rescue  a  servant  or  raise  a  fallen  horse  ? 
Would  he  not  rather  have  dashed  on  like  a  thunderbolt, 
trusting  to  the  superior  speed  of  his  charger  to  carry 
him  clear  of  his  assailants?  And  Nejdi!  What  had 
become  of  that  trusted  friend?  Never  before,  Arab 
though  he  was,  had  he  been  guilty  of  a  stumble.  Per- 
haps he  was  shot,  and  sobbing  out  his  gallant  life  on 
the  read,  almost  at  the  foot  of  the  tree  which  would 
be  his  master's  gallows. 

72 


A  Woman  Intervenes 

A  doomed  man  indulges  in  strange  reveries.  Mal- 
colm was  almost  as  greatly  concerned  with  Nejdi's 
imagined  fate  as  with  his  own  desperate  plight  when 
the  trooper  who  answered  to  the  name  of  Abdul  Huq 
brought  the  heel-rope  that  was  to  serve  as  a  halter. 

The  man  was  a  Pathan,  swarthy,  lean,  and  sinewy, 
with  the  nose  and  eyes  of  a  bird  of  prey.  Though  a 
hawk  would  show  mercy  to  a  fledgling  sparrow  sooner 
than  this  cut-throat  to  a  captive,  the  robber  instinct  in 
him  made  him  pause  before  he  tied  the  fatal  noose. 

"Have  you  gone  through  the  Nazarene's  pockets, 
sirdar?"  he  asked. 

"No,"  was  the  impatient  answer.  "Of  what  avail 
is  it?  These  chota-sahibs1  have  no  money.  And 
Cawnpore  awaits  us." 

"Nevertheless,  every  rupee  counts.  And  he  may 
be  carrying  letters  of  value  to  the  Maharajah.  Once 
he  is  swinging  up  there  he  will  be  out  of  reach,  and 
our  caste  does  not  permit  us  to  defile  our  hands  by 
touching  a  dead  body." 

While  the  callous  ruffian  was  delivering  himself  of 
this  curious  blend  of  cynicism  and  dogma,  his  skilled 
fingers  were  rifling  Malcolm's  pockets.  First  he  drew 
forth  a  sealed  packet  addressed  to  Sir  Hugh  Wheeler. 
He  recognized  the  government  envelope  and,  though 
neither  of  the  pair  could  read  English,  Abdul  Huq 
handed  it  to  his  leader  with  an  "  I-told-you-so "  air. 

It  was  in  Frank's  mind  to  revile  the  men,  but,  most 
happily,  he  composed  himself  sufficiently  to  resolve 
1  Junior  Officers. 
73 


The  Red  Year 

that  he  would  die  like  an  officer  and  a  gentleman,  while 
the  last  words  on  his  lips  would  be  a  prayer. 

The  next  document  produced  was  the  Persi-Arabic 
scrawl  which  purported  to  be  a  "  safe-conduct "  issued 
by  Bahadur  Shah,  whom  the  rebels  acclaimed  as  their 
ruler.  Until  that  instant,  the  Englishman  had  given 
no  thought  to  it.  But  when  he  saw  the  look  of  conster- 
nation that  flitted  across  the  face  of  the  subadar  when 
his  eyes  took  in  the  meaning  of  the  writing,  despair 
yielded  to  hope,  and  he  managed  to  say  thickly: 

"Perhaps  you  will  understand  now  that  you  ought 
to  have  asked  my  business  ere  you  proposed  to  hang 
me  off  hand." 

His  active  brain  devised  a  dozen  expedients  to  account 
for  his  presence  in  Bithoor,  but  the  native  officer  was 
far  too  shrewd  to  be  beguiled  into  setting  his  prisoner 
at  liberty.  After  re-reading  the  pass,  to  make  sure  of 
its  significance,  the  rebel  leader  curtly  told  Abdul  Huq 
and  another  sowar  to  bring  the  Feringhi  into  the  pres- 
ence of  the  Maharajah,  by  which  title  he  evidently 
indicated  Nana  Sahib. 

The  order  was,  at  least,  a  reprieve,  and  Malcolm 
breathed  more  easily.  He  even  asked  confidently  about 
his  horse  and  the  members  of  his  escort.  He  was  given 
no  reply  save  a  muttered  curse,  a  command  to  hold  his 
tongue,  and  an  angry  tug  at  his  tied  arms. 

It  is  hard  to  picture  the  degradation  of  such  treat- 
ment of  a  British  officer  by  a  native  trooper.  The 
Calcutta  Brahmin  who  was  taunted  by  a  Lascar  —  a 
warrior-priest  insulted  by  a  social  leper  —  scarce 

74 


A  Woman  Intervenes 

flinched  more  keenly  under  the  jibe  than  did  Malcolm 
when  he  heard  the  tone  of  his  captors.  Truly  the  flag 
of  Britain  was  trailing  in  the  mire,  or  these  men  would 
not  have  dared  to  address  him  in  that  fashion.  In 
that  bitter  moment  he  felt  for  the  first  time  that  the 
Mutiny  was  a  real  thing.  Hitherto,  in  spite  of  the 
murders  and  incendiarism  of  Meerut,  the  risings  in 
other  stations,  the  proclamation  of  Bahadur  Shah  as 
Emperor,  and  the  actual  conflicts  with  the  Mogul's 
armed  retainers  on  the  battle-field  of  Ghazi-ud-din 
Nuggur,  Malcolm  was  inclined  to  treat  the  outburst  as 
a  mere  blaze  of  local  fanaticism,  a  blaze  that  would 
soon  be  stamped  under  heel  by  the  combined  efforts 
of  the  East  India  Company's  troops  and  the  Queen's 
Forces.  Now,  at  last,  he  saw  the  depth  of  hate  with 
which  British  dominion  was  regarded  in  India.  He 
heard  Mohammedans  alluding  to  a  Brahmin  as  a 
leader  —  so  might  a  wolf  and  a  snake  make  common 
alliance  against  a  watch  dog.  From  that  hour  dated 
a  new  and  sterner  conception  of  the  task  that  lay 
before  him  and  every  other  Briton  in  the  country. 
The  Mutiny  was  no  longer  a  welcome  variant  to  the 
tedium  of  the  hot  weather.  It  was  a  life-and-death 
struggle  between  West  and  East,  between  civilization 
and  barbarism,  between  the  laws  of  Christianity  and 
the  lawlessness  of  Mahomet,  supported  by  the  cruel, 
inhuman,  and  nebulous  doctrines  of  Hinduism. 

Not  that  these  thoughts  took  shape  and  coherence 
in  Malcolm's  brain  as  he  was  being  hurried  to  the  house 
of  Nana  Sahib.  A  man  may  note  the  deadly  malice 

75 


The  Red  Year 

of  a  cobra's  eye,  but  it  is  not  when  the  poison  fangs 
are  ready  to  strike  that  he  stops  to  consider  the  philos- 
ophy underlying  the  creature's  malign  hatred  of 
mankind. 

Events  were  in  a  rare  fret  and  fume  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Cawnpore  that  night.  As  a  matter  of  historical 
fact,  while  Malcolm  was  hearing  from  the  villager  that 
Roshinara  Begum  had  come  to  Bithoor,  the  1st  Native 
Infantry  and  2d  Cavalry  had  risen  at  Cawnpore. 

Nana  Sahib  was  deep  in  intrigue  with  all  the  sepoy 
regiments  stationed  there,  and  his  adherents  ultimately 
managed  to  persuade  these  two  corps  to  throw  off  their 
allegiance  to  the  British  Raj.  Following  the  recog- 
nized routine  they  burst  open  the  gaol,  burnt  the  public 
offices,  robbed  the  Treasury,  and  secured  possession 
of  the  Magazine.  Then,  while  the  ever-swelling  mob 
of  criminals  and  loafers  made  pandemonium  in  the 
bazaar,  the  saner  spirits  among  the  mutineers  hurried 
to  Bithoor  to  ascertain  the  will  of  the  man  who,  by 
common  consent,  was  regarded  as  their  leader. 

He  was  expecting  them,  eagerly  perhaps,  but  with  a 
certain  quaking  that  demanded  the  assistance  of  the 
*'  Raja's  peg,"  a  blend  of  champagne  and  brandy  that 
is  calculated  to  fire  heart  and  brain  to  madness  more 
speedily  than  any  other  intoxicant.  He  was  conversing 
with  his  nephew,  Rao  Sahib,  and  his  chief  lieutenants, 
Tantia  Topi  and  a  Mohammedan  named  Azim-Ullah, 
when  the  native  officers  of  the  rebel  regiments  clattered 
into  his  presence. 

"  Maharajah,"  said  their  chief,  "  a  kingdom  is  yours 
76 


A  Woman  Intervenes 

if  you  join  us,  but  it  is  death  if  you  side  with  the 
Nazarenes." 

He  laughed,  with  the  fine  air  of  one  who  sees  ap- 
proaching the  fruition  of  long-cherished  plans.  He 
advanced  a  pace,  confidently. 

"What  have  I  to  do  with  the  British?"  he  asked. 
"  Are  they  not  my  enemies,  too  ?  I  am  altogether  with 

you." 

"  Will  you  lead  us  to  Delhi,  Maharajah  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  That  is  the  natural  rallying  ground  of 
all  who  wish  the  downfall  of  the  present  Government." 

"Then  behold,  O  honored  one,  we  offer  you  our 
fealty." 

They  pressed  near  him,  tendering  the  hilts  of  their 
swords.  He  touched  each  weapon,  and  placed  his 
hands  on  the  head  of  its  owner,  vowing  that  he  would 
keep  his  word  and  be  faithful  to  the  trust  they  reposed 
in  him. 

"  Our  brothers  of  the  53d  and  56th  have  not  joined 
us  yet,"  said  one. 

"Then  let  us  ride  forth  and  win  them  to  our  side," 
said  the  Nana  grandiloquently.  He  went  into  the 
courtyard,  mounted  a  gaily-caparisoned  horse,  and, 
surrounded  by  the  rebel  cohort,  cantered  off  towards 
Cawnpore. 

Thus  it  befell  that  the  mob  of  horsemen  pressed 
past  Malcolm  and  his  guards  as  they  entered  the 
palace.  The  subadar  tried  in  vain  to  attract  the  Nana's 
attention.  Fearing  lest  he  might  be  forgotten  if  he 
were  not  in  the  forefront  of  the  conspiracy,  this  man 

77 


The  Red  Year 

bade  his  subordinates  take  their  prisoner  before  the 
Begum,  and  ran  off  to  secure  his  horse  and  race  after 
the  others.  He  counted  on  the  despatches  gaining 
him  a  hearing. 

Abdul  Huq,  more  crafty  than  his  chief,  smiled. 

"  Better  serve  a  king's  daughter  than  these  Shia  dogs 
who  are  so  ready  to  fawn  on  a  Brahmin,"  said  he  to 
his  comrade,  another  Pathan,  and  a  Sunni  like  himself, 
for  Islam,  united  against  Christendom,  is  divided  into 
seventy-two  warring  sects.  Hence  the  wavering  loy- 
alty of  two  sepoy  battalions  in  Cawnpore  carried 
Malcolm  out  of  the  Nana's  path,  and  led  him  straight 
to  the  presence  of  Princess  Roshinara. 

The  lapse  of  three  weeks  had  paled  that  lady's 
glowing  cheeks  and  deepened  the  luster  of  her  eyes. 
Not  only  was  she  worn  by  anxiety,  in  addition  to  the 
physical  fatigue  of  the  long  journey  from  Delhi,  but 
the  day's  happenings  had  not  helped  to  lighten  the 
load  of  care.  Yet  she  was  genuinely  amazed  at  seeing 
Malcolm. 

"How  come  you  to  be  here?"  she  cried  instantly, 
addressing  him  before  Abdul  Huq  could  open  his 
mouth  in  explanation. 

"  As  your  Highness  can  see  for  yourself,  I  am  brought 
hither  forcibly  by  these  slaves,"  said  Frank,  thinking 
that  now  or  never  must  he  display  a  bold  front. 

"  How  did  you  learn  that  I  had  left  Delhi  ?  " 

"The  journeyings  of  the  Princess  Roshinara  are 
known  to  many." 

"But  you  came  not  when  I  summoned  you." 
78 


A  Woman  Intervenes 

"  Your  Highness's  letter  did  not  reach  me  until  after 
the  affair  on  the  Hindun  river." 

"What  is  all  this  idle  talk?"  broke  in  Abdul  Huq 
roughly.  "  This  Feringhi  was  carrying  despatches  —  " 

"Peace,  dog!"  cried  the  Begum.  "Unfasten  the 
Sahib's  arms,  and  be  gone.  What!  Dost  thou  hesi- 
tate!" 

She  clapped  her  hands,  and  some  members  of  her 
bodyguard  ran  forward. 

"Throw  these  troopers  into  the  courtyard,"  she 
commanded.  "  If  they  resist  —  " 

But  the  Pathans  were  too  wise  to  refuse  obedience. 
Not  yet  had  the  rebels  felt  their  true  power.  They 
sullenly  untied  Malcolm's  bonds,  and  disappeared. 
Using  eyes  and  ears  each  moment  to  better  advantage, 
Frank  was  alive  to  the  confusion  that  reigned  in  Nana 
Sahib's  abode.  Men  ran  hither  and  thither  in  aimless 
disorder.  The  Brahmin's  retainers  were  like  jackals 
who  knew  that  the  lion  had  killed  and  the  feast 
was  spread.  The  only  servants  who  preserved  the 
least  semblance  of  discipline  were  those  of  the  Prin- 
cess Roshinara.  It  was  an  hour  when  the  cool  brain 
might  contrive  its  own  ends. 

"I  am,  indeed,  much  beholden  to  you,  Princess," 
said  Frank.  "  I  pray  you  extend  your  clemency  to  my 
men.  I  have  an  escort  of  six  sowars,  and  a  servant. 
Some  of  them  are  wounded.  My  horse,  too,  which  I 
value  highly  —  " 

He  paused.  He  saw  quite  clearly  that  she  paid  no 
heed  to  a  word  that  he  was  saying.  Her  black  eyes 

79 


The  Red  Year 

were  fixed  intently  on  his  face,  but  she  was  thinking, 
weighing  in  her  mind  some  suddenly-formed  project. 
He  was  a  pawn  in  the  game  on  the  political  chess-board, 
and  some  drastic  move  was  imminent. 

Some  part  of  his  speech  had  reached  her  intelligence. 
She  caught  him  by  the  wrist  and  hurried  him  along  a 
corridor  into  a  garden,  muttering  as  she  went: 

"Allah  hath  sent  thee,  Malcolm-sahib.  What  mat- 
ters thy  men  and  a  horse?  Yet  will  I  see  to  their 
safety,  if  that  be  possible.  Yes,  yes,  I  must  do  that. 
You  will  need  them.  And  remember,  I  am  trusting 
thee.  Wilt  thou  obey  my  behests  ?  " 

"  I  would  be  capable  of  little  gratitude  if  I  refused, 
Princess,"  said  he,  wondering  what  new  outlet  the 
whirligig  of  events  would  provide. 

Leading  him  past  an  astonished  guardian  of  the 
zenana,  who  dared  not  protest  when  this  imperial  lady 
thought  fit  to  profane  the  sacred  portal  by  admitting 
an  infidel,  she  brought  Malcolm  through  a  door  into  a 
larger  garden  surrounded  by  a  high  wall.  She  pointed 
to  a  pavilion  at  its  farthest  extremity. 

"  Wait  there,"  she  said.  "  When  those  come  to  you 
whom  you  will  have  faith  in,  do  that  which  he  who 
brings  them  shall  tell  you.  Fail  not.  Your  own  life 
and  the  lives  of  your  friends  will  hang  on  a  thread,  yet 
trust  me  that  it  shall  not  be  severed  while  you  obey 
my  commands." 

With  that  cryptic  message  she  ran  back  to  the  door, 
which  was  immediately  slammed  behind  her.  Having 
just  been  snatched  from  the  very  gate  of  eternity  by 

80 


A  Woman  Intervenes 

the  Begum's  good  offices,  Malcolm  determined  to  fall 
in  with  her  whims  so  long  as  they  did  not  interfere  with 
his  duty.  Although  Cawnpore  was  in  the  hands  of  the 
mutineers  and  he  had  lost  his  despatches,  he  deter- 
mined, at  all  costs,  to  reach  Sir  Hugh  Wheeler  if  that 
fine  old  commander  were  still  living.  Meanwhile,  he 
hastened  to  the  baraduri,  an  elegant  structure  which 
was  approached  by  a  flight  of  steps  and  stood  in  the 
angle  of  two  high  battlemented  walls. 

The  place  was  empty  and  singularly  peaceful  after 
the  uproar  of  the  village  and  of  that  portion  of  the  palace 
which  faced  the  Grand  Trunk  Road. 

Overhead  the  sky  was  clear  and  starlit,  but  beyond 
the  walls  stretched  a  low,  half  luminous  bank  of  mist, 
and  he  was  peering  that  way  fully  a  minute  before  he 
ascertained  that  the  garden  stood  on  the  right  bank  of 
the  Ganges.  Almost  at  his  feet,  the  great  river  was 
murmuring  on  its  quiet  course  to  the  sea,  and  the  mist 
was  due  to  the  evaporation  of  its  waters,  which  were 
mainly  composed  of  melted  snow  from  the  ice-capped 
Himalayas. 

When  his  eyes  grew  accustomed  to  his  surroundings 
he  made  out  the  shape  of  a  native  boat  moored  beneath 
the  wall.  It  had  evidently  brought  a  cargo  of  forage 
to  Bithoor.  So  still  was  the  air  that  the  scent  of  the 
hay  lingered  yet  in  the  locality. 

Between  Bithoor  and  Cawnpore  the  Ganges  takes  a 
wide  bend.  At  first  Malcolm  scarce  knew  in  which 
quarter  to  look  for  the  city,  but  distant  reports  and  the 
glare  of  burning  dwellings  soon  told  him  more  than  its 

81 


The  Red  Year 

mere  direction.  So  Cawnpore,  in  its  turn,  had  yielded 
to  the  canker  that  was  gnawing  the  vitals  of  India! 
He  wondered  if  Allahabad  had  fallen.  And  Benares  ? 
And  the  populous  towns  of  Bengal  —  perhaps  even  the 
capital  city  itself?  The  Punjab  was  safe.  Hodson 
told  him  that.  But  would  it  remain  safe?  He  had 
heard  queer  tales  of  the  men  who  dwelt  in  the  bazaars 
of  Lahore,  Umritsar,  Rawalpindi,  and  the  rest. 
Nicholson  and  John  Lawrence  were  there;  could  they 
hold  those  warrior-tribes  in  subjection,  or,  better  still, 
in  leash?  He  might  not  hazard  an  opinion.  His  sky 
had  fallen.  This  land  of  his  adoption  was  his  no 
longer.  He  was  an  outlaw,  hunted  and  despised,  de- 
pending for  his  life  on  the  caprice  of  a  fickle-minded 
woman.  Then  he  thought  of  the  way  his  comrades  of 
the  60th,  of  the  Dragoons  and  the  Artillery,  had  chased 
the  sepoys  from  the  Hindun,  and  his  soul  grew  strong 
again.  Led  by  British  officers,  the  native  troops  were 
excellent,  but,  deprived  of  the  only  leaders  they  really 
respected,  they  became  an  armed  mob,  terrible  to 
women  and  children,  but  of  slight  account  against 
British-born  men. 

His  musings  were  disturbed  by  the  sound  of  horses 
advancing  quietly  across  a  paddy  field  which  skirted 
that  side  of  the  wall  running  at  a  right  angle  with  the 
river.  It  was  impossible  to  see  far  owing  to  the  mist 
that  clung  close  to  the  ground,  but  he  could  not  be 
mistaken  as  to  the  presence  of  a  small  body  of  mounted 
men  within  a  few  yards.  They  had  halted,  too,  but 
his  alert  ears  caught  the  occasional  clink  of  accouter- 

82 


A  Woman  Intervenes 

ments,  and  the  pawing  of  a  horse  in  the  soft  earth. 
He  racked  his  brain  to  try  to  discover  some  connection 
between  this  cavalry  post  and  the  parting  admonition 
given  by  the  Begum  Roshinara,  and  he  might  have 
guessed  the  riddle  in  part  had  he  not  heard  hurried 
footsteps  in  the  garden.  They  came,  not  from  the 
door  by  which  he  was  admitted,  but  from  the  Palace 
itself.  Whoever  the  newcomers  were  they  made 
straight  for  the  pavilion,  and,  as  he  was  unarmed,  he 
did  not  hesitate  to  show  himself  against  the  sky  line. 
For  ill  or  well,  he  wanted  to  know  his  fate,  and  he 
determined  to  spring  over  the  battlements  in  the  hope 
of  reaching  the  river  if  he  received  the  slightest  warning 
of  hostile  intent  by  those  who  sought  him. 

"  Is  that  you,  Malcolm  ? "  said  a  low  voice,  and  his 
heart  leaped  when  he  recognized  Mr.  Mayne's  accents. 

"  Yes.     Can  it  be  possible  that  you  are  here  ?  " 

He  ran  down  the  stone  steps.  On  the  level  of  the 
garden  he  could  see  three  figures,  one  a  white-robed 
native,  one  a  man  in  European  garments,  and  the  third 
a  woman  wrapped  in  a  dark  cloak.  A  suppressed  sob 
uttered  by  the  woman  sent  a  gush  of  hot  blood  to  his 
face.  He  sprang  forward.  In  another  instant  Wini- 
fred was  in  his  arms.  And  that  was  their  unspoken 
declaration  of  love  —  in  the  garden  of  Nana  Sahib's 
house  at  Bithoor  —  while  within  hail  were  thousands 
who  would  gladly  have  torn  them  limb  from  limb,  and 
the  southern  horizon  was  aflame  with  the  light  of  their 
brethren's  dwelling-places. 

"  Oh,  Frank,  dear,"  whispered  the  girl  brokenly, 
83 


The  Red  Year 

"what  evil  fortune  has  led  you  within  these  walls? 
Yet,  I  thank  God  for  it.  Promise  you  will  kill  me  ere 
they  drag  me  from  your  side  again." 

"Hush,  Winifred.  For  the  sake  of  all  of  us  calm 
yourself,"  said  her  uncle.  "This  man  says  he  has 
brought  us  here  to  help  us  to  escape.  Surely  you  can 
find  in  Malcolm's  presence  some  earnest  of  his  good 
faith." 

The  native  now  intervened.  Speaking  with  a  certain 
dignity  and  using  the  language  of  the  court,  he  said 
that  they  had  not  a  moment  to  lose.  They  must  de- 
scend the  wall  by  means  of  a  rope,  and  in  the  field 
beyond  they  would  find  three  of  the  officer-sahib's  men, 
with  his  horse  and  a  couple  of  spare  animals.  Keeping 
close  to  the  river  until  they  came  to  a  tree-lined  nullah 
—  a  small  ravine  cut  by  a  minor  tributary  of  the 
Ganges  —  they  should  follow  this  latter  till  they  ap- 
proached the  Grand  Trunk  Road,  taking  care  not  to 
be  seen  as  they  crossed  that  thoroughfare.  Then, 
making  a  detour,  they  must  avoid  the  village,  and 
endeavor  to  strike  the  road  again  about  two  miles  to 
the  north  of  Bithoor,  thereafter  traveling  at  top  speed 
towards  Meerut,  but  letting  it  be  known  in  the  hamlets 
on  the  way  that  they  came  from  Cawnpore. 

This  unlooked-for  ally  impressed  the  concluding 
stipulation  strongly  on  Malcolm,  but,  when  asked  for 
a  reason,  he  said  simply: 

"It  is  the  Princess's  order.  Come!  There  is  no 
time  for  further  speech.  Here  is  the  rope." 

He  uncoiled  a  long  cord  from  beneath  his  cummer- 
84 


A  Woman  Intervenes 

bund,  and,  running  up  the  steps,  adjusted  it  to  a  pillar 
of  the  baraduri  with  an  ease  and  quickness  that  showed 
familiarity  with  such  means  of  exit  from  a  closely- 
guarded  residence. 

"  Now,  you  first,  sahib,"  said  he  to  Malcolm.  "  Then 
we  will  lower  the  miss-sahib,  and  the  burra-sahib  can 
follow." 

There  was  nothing  to  be  gained  by  questioning  him, 
especially  as  Mayne  murmured  that  he  could  explain 
a  good  deal  of  the  mystery  underlying  the  Begum's 
wish  that  they  should  go  north.  The  exterior  field 
was  reached  without  any  difficulty.  Within  twenty 
yards  they  encountered  a  little  group  of  mounted  men, 
and  Malcolm  found,  to  his  great  delight,  that  Chumru, 
his  bearer,  was  holding  Nejdi's  bridle,  while  his 
companions  were  Akhab  Khan  and  two  troopers 
who  had  ridden  from  Agra.  To  make  the  miracle 
more  complete,  Malcolm's  sword  was  tied  to  the  Arab's 
saddle  and  his  revolvers  were  still  in  the  holsters. 

Winifred,  making  the  best  of  a  man's  saddle  until 
they  could  improvise  a  crutch  at  their  first  halt,  would 
admit  of  no  difficulty  in  that  respect.  The  fact  that 
her  lover  was  present  had  lightened  her  heart  of  the 
terror  which  had  possessed  her  during  many  days. 

They  were  on  the  move,  with  the  two  sharp-eyed 
sowars  leading,  when  the  noise  made  by  a  number  of 
horsemen,  coming  toward  them  on  the  landward  side 
and  in  front,  brought  them  to  an  abrupt  halt. 

"Spread  out  to  the  right  until  you  reach  the  river," 
cried  a  rough  voice,  which  Malcolm  was  sure  he  iden- 

85 


The  Red  Year 

tified  as  belonging  to  Abdul  Huq.  *  Then  we  cannot 
miss  them.  And  remember,  brothers,  if  we  secure  the 
girl  unharmed,  we  shall  earn  a  rich  reward  from  the 
Maharajah." 

Winifred,  shivering  with  fear  again,  knew  not  what 
the  man  said,  but  she  drew  near  to  Malcolm  and 
whispered  : 

"Not  into  their  hands,  Frank,  for  God's  sake!" 

The  movement  of  her  horse's  feet  had  not  passed 
unnoticed. 

"Be  sharp,  there!"  snarled  the  Pathan  again. 
"They  are  not  far  off,  and  only  six  of  them.  Shout, 
you  on  the  right  when  you  are  on  the  bank." 

"None  can  pass  between  me  and  the  stream,"  replied 
a  more  distant  voice. 

"  Forward,  then !  Keep  line !  Not  too  fast,  you  near 
the  wall." 

Frank  loosened  his  sword  from  its  fastenings  and 
took  a  revolver  in  his  left  hand,  in  which  he  also  held 
the  reins.  He  judged  Abdul  Huq  to  be  some  fifty 
yards  distant,  and  he  was  well  aware  that  the  fog 
became  thinner  with  each  yard  as  he  turned  his  back 
on  the  river. 

"Take  Winifred  back  to  the  angle  of  the  wall,"  he 
whispered  to  Mayne.  "You  will  find  a  budgerow1 
there.  Get  your  horses  on  board,  if  possible,  and  I 
shall  join  you  in  a  minute  or  less.  If  I  manage  to 
scatter  these  devils,  we  shall  outwit  them  yet." 

It  was  hopeless,  he  knew,  to  attempt  to  ride  through 

1 A  native  boat. 
86 


A  Woman  Intervenes 

the  enemy's  cordon.  There  would  be  a  running  fight 
against  superior  numbers,  and  Winifred's  presence 
made  that  a  last  resource.  The  most  fortunate  accident 
of  the  deserted  craft  being  moored  beneath  the  palace 
wall  offered  a  far  more  probable  means  of  escape. 
What  blunder  or  treachery  had  led  to  this  attack  he 
could  not  imagine.  Nor  was  he  greatly  troubled  with 
speculation  on  that  point.  Winifred  must  be  saved,  he 
had  a  sword  in  his  hand,  and  he  was  mounted  on  the 
best  horse  in  India.  What  better  hap  could  a  cavalry 
subaltern  desire  than  such  a  fight  under  such  conditions  ? 

In  order  not  only  to  drown  the  girl's  protest  when 
her  uncle  turned  her  horse's  head,  but  also  to  deceive 
opponents,  Frank  thundered  forth  an  order  that  was 
familiar  to  their  ears. 

"  The  troop  will  advance !  Draw  swords !  Walk  — 
trot  —  charge ! " 

Chumru,  though  no  fighting-man,  realized  that  he 
was  expected  to  make  a  row  and  uttered  a  blood- 
curdling yell.  Inspired  by  their  officer's  example  the 
two  sowars  dashed  after  him  with  splendid  courage. 
They  were  on  their  startled  pursuers  so  soon,  the  line 
having  narrowed  more  quickly  than  they  expected, 
that  they  hurtled  right  through  the  opposing  force 
without  a  blow  being  struck  or  a  shot  fired.  As  it 
chanced,  no  better  maneuver  could  have  been  effected. 
When  they  wheeled  and  Frank  managed  to  shoot  two 
men  at  close  range,  it  seemed  to  the  amazed  rebels  that 
they  were  being  attacked  from  the  very  quarter  from 
which  they  had  advanced. 

87 


The  Red  Year 

Under  such  conditions  even  the  steadiest  of  troops 
will  break,  and  at  least  endeavor  to  reach  a  place  where 
their  adversaries  are  not  shrouded  in  a  dense  mist. 
And  that  was  exactly  what  occurred  in  this  instance. 
Nearly  all  the  mutineers  swung  round  and  galloped 
headlong  for  the  landward  boundary  of  the  paddy 
field.  Shouting  to  his  two  plucky  assistants  to  come 
back,  Frank  called  out  to  Chumru  and  bade  him  join 
them.  He  was  hurrying  towards  the  corner  of  the 
palace  grounds  when  a  shriek  from  Winifred  set  his 
teeth  on  edge. 

"I  am  coming,"  he  cried.  "What  has  happened? 
Where  are  you,  Mayne  ?  " 

"Here,  close  to  the  boat.  Look  out  there!  Two 
sowars  are  carrying  off  my  niece.  For  Heaven's  sake, 
save  her!  I  am  wounded,  but  never  mind  me." 

Malcolm  had  the  hunter's  lore,  a  species  of  Red 
Indian  cunning  in  the  stalker's  art.  Instead  of  rushing 
blindly  forward  he  halted  his  men  promptly  and 
listened.  Sure  enough,  he  heard  stumbling  footsteps  by 
the  water's  edge.  Leaping  from  Nejdi's  back,  he  sprang 
down  the  crumbling  bank  and  came  almost  on  top  of 
Abdul  Huq  and  his  brother  Pathan.  Their  progress 
was  hindered  by  Winifred's  frantic  struggles  and  their 
own  brutal  efforts  to  stop  her  from  screaming,  and  they 
were  taken  unaware  by  Frank's  unexpected  leap. 

A  thrust  that  went  home  caused  a  vacancy  in  a 
border  clan,  but,  before  the  avenger  could  withdraw 
his  weapon,  Abdul  Huq  was  swinging  his  tulwar.  He 
was  no  novice  in  the  art,  and  Malcolm  must  have  gone 

88 


A  Woman  Intervenes 

down  under  the  blow  had  not  Winifred  seen  its  murder- 
ous purpose  and  seized  the  man's  arm.  That  gave  her 
lover  the  second  he  needed.  He  recovered  his  sword, 
but  was  too  near  to  stab  or  cut,  so  he  met  the  case  by 
dealing  the  swarthy  one  a  blow  with  the  hilt  between 
the  eyes  that  would  have  felled  an  ox.  Never  before 
had  the  Englishman  hit  any  man  with  such  vigorous 
good  will.  This  rascal  was  owed  a  debt  for  the  indig- 
nity he  had  offered  the  sahib  in  the  village,  and  now  he 
was  paid  in  full. 

He  fell  insensible,  with  part  of  his  body  resting  in 
the  water.  It  was  a  queer  moment  for  noting  a  trivial 
thing,  yet  Frank  saw  that  the  man's  turban  did  not 
fall  off.  He  had  lost  his  own  turban  during  the  melee 
on  the  Grand  Trunk  Road,  and,  as  it  would  soon  be 
daylight,  he  stooped  to  secure  Abdul  Huq's  headgear. 
Oddly  enough,  it  was  fastened  by  a  piece  of  cord  under 
the  Pathan's  chin  —  an  almost  unheard-of  device  this, 
to  be  adopted  by  a  native.  With  a  sharp  pull  Frank 
broke  the  cord  and  jammed  the  turban  on  his  head. 
He  was  determined  to  have  it,  if  only  because  no 
greater  insult  can  be  inflicted  on  a  Mohammedan  than 
to  bare  his  head. 

The  incident  did  not  demand  more  than  a  few 
seconds  for  its  transaction  and  Winifred  hardly  noticed 
it,  so  unstrung  was  she.  Without  more  ado  Malcolm 
took  her  in  his  arms  and  carried  her  up  the  bank.  He 
told  the  troopers  and  his  servant  to  follow  with  the 
horses  as  quietly  as  possible  and  led  the  way  towards 
the  budgerow. 

89 


Arrived  at  the  boat,  they  found  Mayne  standing  in 
the  water  and  leaning  helplessly  against  the  side  of  the 
craft.  He  had  been  struck  down  by  one  of  the  precious 
pair  who  thought  to  carry  off  Winifred,  but,  luckily, 
it  was  a  glancing  blow  and  not  serious  in  its  after 
effects. 

With  a  rapidity  that  was  almost  magical  the  horses 
were  put  on  board,  the  boat  shoved  off,  and  the  huge 
mat  sail  hoisted  to  get  the  benefit  of  any  breeze  that 
might  be  found  in  midstream.  The  current  carried 
them  away  at  a  fair  rate,  and,  as  they  passed  the  place 
where  Abdul  Huq  had  fallen  in  the  river  Malcolm 
fancied  he  heard  a  splash  and  a  gurgle,  as  though  a 
crocodile  had  found  something  of  interest 


90 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  WELL 

NOT  until  many  months  later  did  Malcolm  learn  the 
true  cause  of  Roshinara  Begum's  anxiety  that  he  and 
his  friends  should  hasten  to  Meerut,  and  let  it  be  known 
on  the  way  that  they  came  from  Cawnpore.  Yet  there 
were  those  in  Bithoor  that  night  who  fully  appreciated 
the  tremendous  influence  on  the  course  of  political 
events  that  the  direction  of  Winifred's  flight  might 
exercise.  The  girl  herself  little  dreamed  she  was  such 
an  important  personage.  But  that  is  often  the  case 
with  those  who  are  destined  to  make  history.  In  this 
instance,  the  balking  of  a  Brahmin  prince's  passions 
was  destined  to  change  the  whole  trend  of  affairs  in 
northern  India. 

Nana  Sahib  escorted  Mayne  from  Meerut  to  Cawn- 
pore because  the  safe-guarding  of  the  Judicial  Com- 
missioner of  Oudh  was  a  strong  card  to  play  in  that 
parlous  game  of  empire.  As  he  traveled  south  reports 
reached  him  on  every  hand  that  nothing  could  now 
stop  the  spread  of  the  Mutiny,  and,  with  greater  cer- 
tainty in  his  plans  came  a  project  that  he  would  not 
have  dared  to  harbor  even  a  week  earlier. 

Winifred,  naturally  a  high-spirited  and  lively  girl, 
91 


The  Red  Year 

soon  recovered  from  the  fright  of  that  fateful  Sunday 
evening.  She  had  seen  little  of  the  tragedy  enacted 
in  Meerut;  she  knew  less  of  its  real  horrors.  Notwith- 
standing the  intense  heat  the  open-air  life  of  the  march 
was  healthy,  and,  in  many  respects,  agreeable.  The 
Nana  was  a  courteous  and  considerate  host.  He  took 
good  care  that  his  secret  intelligence  of  occurrences  at 
Delhi  and  other  stations  should  remain  hidden  from 
Mayne,  and,  while  his  ambitions  mounted  each  hour, 
he  cast  many  a  veiled  glance  at  the  graceful  beauty  of 
the  fair  English  girl  who  moved  like  a  sylph  among  the 
brown-skinned  satyrs  surrounding  her. 

Once  the  party  had  reached  Bithoor  the  Nana's  tone 
changed.  Instead  of  sending  his  European  guests  into 
Cawnpore,  whence  safe  transit  to  Calcutta  was  still 
practicable,  he  kept  them  in  his  palace,  on  the  pretext 
that  the  roads  were  disturbed.  He  contrived,  at  first, 
to  hoodwink  Mr.  Mayne  by  giving  him  genuine  news 
of  the  wholesale  outbreak  in  the  North- West,  and  by 
adding  wholly  false  tidings  of  massacres  at  Allahabad, 
Benares,  and  towns  in  Upper  Bengal.  At  last,  when 
Mayne  insisted  on  going  into  Cawnpore,  the  native 
threw  aside  pretense,  said  he  could  not  "allow"  him 
to  depart,  and  virtually  made  uncle  and  niece  prisoners. 

But  he  treated  them  well.  A  clear-headed  Brahmin, 
to  whom  intrigue  was  the  breath  of  life,  was  not  likely 
to  make  the  mistake  of  being  too  precipitate  in  his 
actions.  The  wave  of  religious  fanaticism  sweeping 
over  the  land  might  recede  as  rapidly  as  it  had  risen. 
Muslim  and  Hindu,  Pathan  and  Brahmin,  hereditary 

92 


The  Well 

foes  who  fraternized  to-day,  might  be  at  each  other's 
throats  to-morrow.  So  the  Nana  was  a  courteous 
jailer.  Beyond  the  loss  of  their  liberty  the  captives 
had  nothing  to  complain  of,  and  he  met  Mayne's 
vehement  reproaches  with  unmoved  good  humor,  pro- 
testing all  the  while  that  he  was  acting  for  the  best. 

Winifred  took  fright,  however.  Her  woman's  intui- 
tion looked  beneath  the  mask.  For  her  uncle's  sake 
she  kept  her  suspicions  to  herself,  but  she  suffered 
much  in  secret,  and  her  distress  might  well  have  moved 
a  man  of  finer  character  to  sympathy.  Each  time  she 
met  the  Nana  he  treated  her  with  more  apparent 
friendliness.  She  recoiled  from  his  advances  as  she 
might  shrink  from  a  venomous  snake. 

Fortunately  there  were  others  in  Bithoor  who  un- 
derstood the  Brahmin's  motives,  and  saw  therein  the 
germ  of  failure  for  their  own  plans.  Nana  Sahib 
was  an  exceedingly  important  factor  in  the  success  of 
the  scheme  that  meditated  the  re-establishment  of  the 
Mogul  dynasty.  Recognized  by  the  Mahrattas,  the 
great  warlike  race  of  western  India,  as  their  leader, 
looked  on  as  the  pivot  of  Hindu  support  to  the  Moham- 
medan monarchy,  it  was  absolutely  essential  that  he 
should  captain  the  rebel  garrison  of  Cawnpore  in  a 
triumphant  march  to  Delhi.  For  that  reason  a  mar- 
riage distasteful  to  both  had  already  been  arranged 
between  him  and  the  Roshinara  Begum.  For  that 
reason  he  had  traveled  to  many  centers  of  disaffection 
during  the  months  of  March  and  April,  winning 
doubtful  Hindu  princes  to  the  side  of  Bahadur  Shah, 

93 


The  Red  Year 

by  his  tact  and  ready  diplomacy.  For  that  reason  too, 
the  native  officers  of  the  first  regiments  in  revolt  at 
Cawnpore  made  him  swear,  even  at  the  twelfth  hour, 
that  he  would  lead  them  to  Demi. 

His  unforeseen  infatuation  for  an  Englishwoman 
might  upset  the  carefully-laid  plot.  Under  other  con- 
ditions a  dose  of  poison  would  have  removed  poor 
Winifred  from  the  scene,  but  that  simple  expedient  was 
not  to  be  thought  of,  as  the  Nana's  vengeful  disposition 
was  sufficiently  well  known  to  his  associates  to  make 
them  fear  the  outcome.  Therefore  they  left  nothing 
to  chance,  and  actually  brought  the  Princess  Roshinara 
post  haste  from  the  north,  believing  that  her  presence 
would  insure  the  inconstant  wooer's  return  with  her  at 
the  right  moment. 

While  the  majority  pulled  in  one  way  there  was  an 
active  minority  that  wished  the  Nana  to  set  up  an 
independent  kingdom.  His  nephew  and  his  Moham- 
medan friend,  Azim-ullah,  were  convinced  that  their 
faction  would  lose  all  influence  as  soon  as  their  chief 
was  swallowed  up  in  the  maelstrom  of  the  imperial 
court.  If  Winifred  supplied  the  spell  that  kept  the 
Nana  at  Bithoor,  they  were  quite  content  that  it  should 
be  allowed  to  exercise  its  power. 

Hence,  Malcolm's  arrival  gave  the  Begum  a  chance 
that  her  quick  wit  seized  upon.  Why  not,  she  argued, 
connive  at  the  Englishwoman's  escape,  and  let  it 
become  known  that  she  had  fled  back  to  Meerut? 
When  the  Nana  returned  from  Cawnpore,  flushed  with 
wine  and  conquest,  this  should  be  the  first  news  that 

94 


The  Well 

greeted  him,  and  his  amorous  rage  would  go  hand  in 
hand  with  the  other  considerations  that  urged  his 
immediate  departure  for  the  Mogul  capital.  That  was 
not  the  device  of  a  woman  who  loved  —  it  savored 
rather  of  the  cool  state-craft  of  a  Lucrezia  Borgia. 

No  more  curious  mixture  of  plot  and  counterplot 
than  this  minor  chapter  of  the  Bithoor  romance  came 
to  light  during  that  disastrous  upheaval  in  India. 
Never  did  events  of  the  utmost  magnitude  hinge  on 
incidents  so  trivial  to  the  community  at  large.  A 
truculent  thief  like  Abdul  Huq  was  able  to  defeat  the 
intent  of  a  king's  daughter,  and  a  couple  of  alert 
troopers,  riding  to  a  bluff  overlooking  the  river,  could 
report  that  they  saw  the  budgerow  on  which  the  sahib- 
log  escaped  drifting  down  stream  towards  Cawnporel 
Thus  the  intrigue  miscarried  twice.  Winifred  was 
free;  the  clear  inference  to  be  drawn  from  the  boat's 
course  was  that  her  uncle  and  Malcolm  would  bring 
her  straight  to  the  protection  of  their  friends  in  the 
cantonment. 

There  was  a  scene  of  violence,  nearly  culminating  in 
murder,  when  Nana  Sahib  came  to  Bithoor  at  dawn. 
He  met  the  scorn  of  Roshinara  with  a  furious  insolence 
that  stopped  short  of  bloodshed  only  on  account  of  the 
prudence  still  governing  most  of  his  actions.  Not  yet 
was  he  drunk  with  power.  That  madness  was  soon  to 
obsess  him.  But  he  lent  a  willing  ear  to  the  counsels 
of  Rao  Sahib  and  Azim-ullah.  Soon  after  daybreak 
he  galloped  to  Kulianpur,  on  the  road  to  Delhi,  whither 
some  thousands  of  sepoys  had  already  gone,  and 

95 


The  Red  Year 

harangued  them  eloquently  on  the  glory,  not  to  speak 
of  the  loot,  they  would  acquire  by  attacking  the  accursed 
English  at  Cawnpore. 

They  were  easily  swayed.  Acclaiming  the  Nana  as 
a  prince  worthy  of  obedience  they  marched  after  him, 
and  thus  sealed  the  doom  of  many  hundreds  of  unhappy 
beings  who  thought  until  that  moment  they  would  be 
spared  the  dreadful  fate  that  had  befallen  other  sta- 
tions. 

Oddly  enough,  the  high-born  Brahmin  who  now  saw 
his  hopes  of  regal  power  in  a  fair  way  towards  realiza- 
tion placed  one  act  of  soldierly  courtesy  to  his  credit 
before  he  made  his  name  a  synonym  for  all  that  is  base 
and  despicable  in  the  conduct  of  warfare.  He  wrote 
a  letter  to  Sir  Hugh  Wheeler  warning  the  gallant  old 
general  that  he  might  expect  to  be  attacked  forthwith. 
Perhaps  it  is  straining  a  point  to  credit  him  with  any 
sense  of  fair  play.  The  letter  may  have  been  a  last 
flicker  of  respect  for  the  power  of  Britain,  and  inspired 
by  a  haunting  fear  of  the  consequences  if  the  Mutiny 
failed.  It  is  probable  he  wished  to  provide  written 
proof  of  a  plea  that  he  was  an  unwilling  agent  in  the 
clutch  of  a  mutinous  army.  However  that  may  be,  he 
wrote,  and  never  did  letter  carry  more  bitter  disap- 
pointment to  a  Christian  community. 

Sir  Hugh  Wheeler  having  decided,  most  unfortu- 
nately as  it  happened,  against  occupying  the  strongly- 
built  magazine  on  the  river  bank  as  a  refuge,  had 
constructed  a  flimsy  entrenchment  on  a  level  plain 
close  to  the  native  lines.  He  was  sure  the  sepoys 

96 


The  Well 

would  revolt,  but  he  believed  they  would  hurry  off  to 
Delhi,  and  he  refused  to  give  them  an  excuse  for 
rebellion  by  seizing  the  magazine.  Towards  the  end 
of  May  he  wrote  to  Henry  Lawrence  at  Lucknow  for 
help,  and  Lawrence  generously  sent  him  fifty  men  of 
the  32d  and  half  a  battery  of  guns,  though  even  this 
small  force  could  ill  be  spared  from  the  capital  of 
Oudh.  Sir  Hugh  made  the  further  mistake  of  crediting 
Nana  Sahib's  professions  of  loyalty.  He  actually 
entrusted  the  Treasury  to  the  protection  of  the  Nana's 
retainers,  in  spite  of  Lawrence's  plainly -worded  warning 
that  the  Brahmin's  recent  movements  placed  him  under 
grave  suspicion. 

Nevertheless,  Wheeler  acted  with  method.  His 
judgment  was  clear,  if  occasionally  mistaken,  and  he 
had  every  reason  to  believe  that  the  only  attacks  he 
would  be  called  on  to  repel  would  be  made  by  the 
bazaar  mob. 

On  the  night  of  June  4th,  the  thousand  men,  women 
and  children  who  had  gathered  behind  the  four-foot 
mud  wall  that  formed  the  entrenchment  were  left 
unmolested  by  the  mutineers.  During  the  5th  they 
watched  the  destruction  of  their  bungalows,  and  knew 
that  the  rebels  \vere  plundering  the  city,  robbing  rich 
native  merchants  quite  as  readily  as  they  killed  any 
Europeans  who  were  not  under  Wheeler's  charge. 
Late  that  day  came  Nana  Sahib's  letter.  It  was  a 
bitter  disappointment,  but  "the  valiant  never  taste 
death  but  once,"  and  the  Britons  in  Cawnpore  resolved 
to  teach  the  mutineers  that  the  men  who  had  conquered 

97 


The  Red  Year 

them  many  times  in  the  field  could  repeat  the  lesson 
again  and  again. 

About  ten  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  the  6th,  flames 
rising  from  houses  near  at  hand  gave  evidence  of  the 
approach  of  the  rebels.  Irregular  spurts  of  musketry 
heralded  the  appearance  of  confused  masses  of  armed 
men.  A  cannon-ball  crashed  through  the  mud  wall 
and  bounded  across  the  enclosure.  A  bugle  sounded 
shrilly  and  the  defenders  ran  to  their  posts.  The 
wailing  of  women  and  the  cries  of  frightened  children, 
helpless  creatures  only  half  protected  by  two  barracks 
situated  in  the  southern  corner  of  the  entrenchment, 
mingled  with  the  din  of  the  answering  guns,  and  in 
that  fatal  hour  the  siege  of  Cawnpore  began. 

In  the  tear-stained  story  of  humanity  there  has  never 
been  aught  to  surpass  the  thrilling  record  of  Cawnpore. 
It  contains  every  element  of  heroism  and  tragedy. 
Four  hundred  English  soldiers,  seventy  of  whom  were 
invalids,  with  a  few  dozens  of  civilians  and  faithful 
sepoys  —  standing  behind  a  breast-high  fortification 
that  would  not  stop  a  bullet  —  exposed  to  the  fierce 
rays  of  an  Indian  sun  —  ill-fed,  almost  waterless,  and 
driven  to  numb  despair  by  the  sufferings  of  their  loved 
ones  —  these  men,  enduring  all  and  daring  all,  held  at 
bay  four  thousand  well-armed,  well-housed,  and  well- 
fed  troops  for  twenty-one  days. 

Not  for  a  moment  was  the  strain  relaxed.  Day  and 
night  the  rebels  poured  into  the  entrenchment  a  cease- 
less hail  of  iron  and  lead.  Cannon-balls,  solid  and 
red-hot,  shells  with  carefully  arranged  time  fuses,  and 

98 


The  Well 

bullets  from  those  self -same  cartridges  that  the  superfine 
feelings  of  Brahmin  soldiers  forbade  them  to  touch, 
were  hurled  at  the  hapless  garrison  from  all  quarters. 
In  the  first  week  every  gunner  in  the  place  was  killed 
or  wounded.  Women  and  children  were  shot  as  though 
they  were  in  the  front  line  of  the  defense.  No  corner 
was  safe  from  the  enemy's  fire.  Every  human  being 
behind  that  absurdly  inadequate  wall  was  exposed  to 
constant  and  equal  danger. 

Here  is  an  extract  from  Holmes's  history: 
"A  private  was  walking  with  his  wife  when  a  single 
bullet  killed  him,  broke  both  her  arms,  and  wounded 
an  infant  she  was  carrying.  An  officer  was  talking 
with  a  comrade  at  the  main  guard  when  a  musket-ball 
struck  him;  and,  as  he  was  limping  painfully  to  the 
barracks  to  have  his  wound  dressed,  Lieutenant  Mow- 
bray-Thomson  of  the  56th,  who  was  supporting  him, 
was  struck  also,  and  both  fell  helplessly  to  the  ground. 
Presently  as  Thomson  lay  wofully  sick  of  his  wound, 
another  officer  came  to  condole  with  him,  and  he  too 
received  a  wound  from  which  he  died  before  the  end 
of  the  siege.  Young  Godfrey  Wheeler,  a  son  of  the 
General,  was  lying  wounded  in  one  of  the  barracks 
when  a  round  shot  crashed  through  the  walls  of  the 
room  and  carried  off  his  head  in  the  sight  of  his  mother 
and  sisters.  Little  children,  straggling  outside  the  wall, 
were  deliberately  shot  down." 

On  the  night  of  June  the  llth  a  red-hot  cannon-ball 
set  fire  to  one  of  the  barracks  which  was  used  as  a 
hospital.  The  flames  inspired  the  enemy's  gunners  to 

99 


The  Red  Year 

fresh  efforts  and  provided  them  with  an  excellent  target, 
yet  the  garrison  dared  all  perils  of  gun-fire  and  falling 
rafters  and  masonry,  while  they  rescued  the  inmates. 
It  is  on  record  that  the  gallant  men  of  the  32d,  when  the 
flames  had  subsided,  though  a  heavy  fusillade  was  still 
kept  up  by  the  rebels,  were  seen  raking  the  ashes  in  or- 
der to  find  their  lost  medals,  the  medals  they  had  won  in 
the  deadly  fighting  that  preceded  the  fall  of  Sevastopol. 

On  the  next  day  the  sepoy  army,  though  so  boastful 
and  vainglorious,  dared  to  make  their  first  attempt  to 
carry  the  entrenchment  by  assault.  By  one  bold 
charge  they  must  have  crushed  the  defenders,  if  by 
sheer  weight  of  numbers  alone.  They  advanced,  with 
fiendish  yells  and  much  seeming  confidence.  But  they 
could  not  face  those  stern  warriors  who  lined  the 
shattered  wall.  After  a  short  but  fierce  struggle  they 
fled,  leaving  the  plain  littered  with  corpses. 

So  the  safer  bombardment  was  renewed,  its  fury 
envenomed  by  the  conscious  disparity  of  the  besiegers 
when  they  tried  to  press  home  the  attack.  Each  day 
the  garrison  dwindled;  each  day  the  rebels  received 
fresh  accessions  of  strength.  Of  the  few  guns  mounted 
in  the  British  position,  one  had  lost  its  muzzle,  another 
was  thrown  from  its  carriage  and  two  were  so  battered  by 
the  enemy's  artillery  that  they  could  not  be  used.  The 
hospital  fire  had  destroyed  all  the  surgical  instruments 
and  medical  stores,  so  the  wounded  had  to  lie  waiting 
for  death,  while  those  who  still  bore  arms  eked  out 
existence  on  a  daily  dole  of  a  handful  of  flour  and  a 
few  ounces  of  split  peas. 

100 


The  Well 

Yet  the  men  of  Cawnpore  fought  on,  while  their 
wives  and  sisters  and  daughters  helped  uncomplain- 
ingly, making  up  packets  of  ammunition,  loading 
rifles  for  the  men  to  fire,  and  even  giving  their  stock- 
ings to  the  gunners  to  provide  cases  for  grape-shot. 

There  was  only  one  well  inside  the  entrenchment. 
Knowing  its  paramount  importance,  the  rebels  mounted 
guns  in  such  wise  that  a  constant  fire  could  be  kept  up 
throughout  the  night  on  that  special  point.  Yet  there 
never  was  lacking  a  volunteer,  either  man  or  woman, 
to  go  to  that  well  and  obtain  the  precious  water.  It 
remains  to  this  day  a  mournful  relic  of  the  siege,  with 
its  broken  gear  and  shattered  circular  wall,  while  the 
indentations  made  by  such  of  the  cannon-balls  as  failed 
to  dislodge  the  masonry  are  plain  to  be  seen. 

The  sepoys  spared  none.  Tiny  children,  tottering 
to  the  well  in  broad  daylight,  were  pelted  with  mus- 
ketry. Conceivably  that  might  be  war.  When  be- 
leaguered people  will  not  yield  humanity  must  stand 
aside  and  weep.  There  was  a  deed  to  come  that  was 
not  war,  but  the  black  horror  of  abomination,  worthy 
of  the  excesses  of  a  man-eating  tiger,  though  shorn  of 
the  tiger's  excuse  that  he  kills  in  order  that  he  may 
live.  The  well  in  the  entrenchment  was  the  Well  of 
Life.  There  was  another  well  in  Cawnpore  destined 
to  be  the  Well  of  Death. 

If  proof  were  needed  of  the  extraordinary  condition 
of  India  during  the  early  period  of  the  Mutiny,  it  was 
given  by  an  incident  that  occurred  soon  after  the  first 
assault  was  beaten  off.  In  broad  daylight,  while  the 

101 


The  Red  Year 

garrison  were  maintaining  the  unceasing  duel  of  cannon 
and  small  arms,  they  were  astounded  by  the  spectacle 
of  a  British  officer  galloping  across  the  plain.  He  was 
fired  at  by  the  sepoys,  of  course,  but  horse  and  man 
escaped  untouched  and  the  low  barrier  was  leaped 
without  effort.  The  newcomer  was  Lieutenant  Bolton 
of  the  7th  Cavalry.  Sent  out  from  Lucknow  on  district 
duty  he  was  suddenly  deserted  by  his  men,  and  he 
rode  alone  towards  Cawnpore,  the  nearest  British 
station.  Unhappily  the  story  of  that  adventurous  ride 
is  lost  for  ever.  Poor  Bolton  supplied  Cawnpore's 
last  re-inforcement. 

Sir  Hugh  Wheeler,  ably  seconded  in  the  defense  by 
Captain  Moore  of  the  32d,  sent  out  emissaries,  Eura- 
sians and  natives,  to  seek  aid  from  Lucknow  and 
Allahabad,  the  one  about  thirty-five,  the  other  a  hundred 
miles  distant.  Lawrence  wrote  "with  a  breaking 
heart"  that  he  could  spare  no  troops  from  Lucknow. 
The  messengers  never  even  reached  Allahabad. 

On  June  23  the  Nana's  hosts  again  nerved  them- 
selves for  a  desperate  attack,  and  again  were  they 
flung  off  from  that  tumble-down  wall.  Then,  all  their 
valor  fled,  they  fell  back  on  a  foul  device.  A  white 
woman,  Mrs.  Henry  Jacobi,  who  had  been  taken 
prisoner  early  in  the  month,  crossed  the  plain  holding 
a  white  flag.  Wheeler  and  Moore  and  other  senior 
officers  went  to  meet  her.  She  carried  a  letter  from 
Nana  Sahib,  offering  safe  conduct  to  Allahabad  for 
all  the  garrison  "  except  those  who  were  connected  with 
the  acts  of  Lord  Dalhousie." 

102 


The  Well 

Now  Dalhousie  resigned  the  vice-royalty  in  Feb- 
ruary, 1856.  It  was  he  who  had  refused  to  continue 
to  Nana  Sahib  the  Peishwa's  pension;  assuredly  there 
was  none  in  Cawnpore  responsible  for  the  acts  of  a 
former  viceroy.  At  any  rate,  whatsoever  that  curious 
reservation  meant,  the  majority  of  the  staff  were  op- 
posed to  surrender.  Unfortunately  Captain  Moore, 
whose  bravery  was  in  the  mouths  of  all,  who,  though 
wounded  and  ill,  had  been  "the  life  and  soul  of  the 
defense,"  persuaded  Sir  Hugh  Wheeler  and  the  others 
that  an  honorable  capitulation  was  their  sole  resource. 
Succor  could  not  arrive,  he  argued,  and  they  were  in 
duty  bound  to  save  the  surviving  civilians  and  the 
women  and  children. 

So  an  armistice  was  agreed  to  on  June  26,  and 
representatives  of  both  sides  met  to  discuss  terms.  It 
was  arranged  that  the  garrison  should  evacuate  their 
position,  surrender  their  guns  and  treasure,  retain  their 
rifles  and  a  quantity  of  ammunition,  and  be  provided 
with  river  transport  to  Allahabad. 

The  Nana  asked  that  the  defenders  should  march 
out  that  night.  Wheeler  refused. 

"  I  shall  renew  the  bombardment,  and  put  every  one 
of  you  to  death  in  a  few  days,"  threatened  the  Brahmin. 

"  Try  it,"  said  the  Englishman.  "  I  still  have  enough 
powder  left  to  blow  both  armies  into  the  air." 

But  the  Nana  meant  to  have  no  more  fighting  on 
equal  terms.  He  signed  the  treaty,  the  guns  were 
given  up,  and,  on  the  night  of  June  26th,  peace 
reigned  within  the  ruined  entrenchment. 

103 


The  Red  Year 

Next  morning  that  glorious  garrison  quitted  the 
shot-torn  plain  they  had  hallowed  by  their  deeds. 
And  even  the  rebels  pitied  them.  "As  the  wan  and 
ragged  column  filed  along  the  road,  the  women  and 
children  in  bullock-carriages  or  on  elephants,  the 
wounded  in  palanquins,  the  fighting  men  on  foot, 
sepoys  came  clustering  round  the  officers  they  had 
betrayed,  and  talked  in  wonder  and  admiration  of 
the  surpassing  heroism  of  the  defense." 

Those  men  of  the  rank  and  file  at  least  were  soldiers. 
They  knew  nothing  of  the  awful  project  concocted  by 
the  Nana  and  his  chief  associates,  Rao  Sahib,  Tantia 
Topi,  and  Azim-ullah. 

The  procession  made  its  way  slowly  towards  the 
river,  three  quarters  of  a  mile  to  the  east.  No  doubt 
there  were  joyful  hearts  even  in  that  sorrow-laden 
band.  Men  and  women  must  have  thought  of  far-off 
homes  in  England,  and  hoped  that  God  would  spare 
them  to  see  their  beloved  country  once  more.  Even 
the  children,  wide-eyed  innocents,  could  not  fail  to  be 
thankful  that  the  noise  of  the  guns  had  ceased,  while 
the  wounded  were  cheered  by  the  belief  that  food  and 
stores  in  plenty  would  soon  be  available. 

At  the  foot  of  a  tree-clad  ravine  leading  to  the  Ganges 
were  stationed  a  number  of  heavy  native  boats,  with 
thatched  roofs  to  shield  the  occupants  from  the  sun. 
They  were  partly  drawn  up  on  the  mud  at  the  water's 
edge  to  render  easy  the  work  of  embarkation.  Without 
hurry  or  confusion,  the  wounded,  and  the  women  and 
children,  were  placed  on  board. 

104 


The  Well 

Then  some  one  noticed  that  the  thatch  on  one  of  the 
boats  was  smoking,  and  it  was  found  that  glowing 
charcoal  had  been  thrust  into  the  straw.  About  the 
same  time  it  was  discovered  that  the  boats  had  neither 
oars,  nor  rudders,  nor  supplies  of  food.  Before  the 
dread  significance  of  these  things  became  clear,  a 
bugle-call  rang  out.  At  once,  both  banks  of  the  river 
became  alive  with  armed  sepoys,  and  a  murderous 
rifle-fire  was  opened  on  the  crowded  boats.  Guns, 
hidden  among  the  trees,  belched  red-hot  shot  and 
grape  at  them,  and  the  smoldering  straw  of  the 
thatched  roofs  burst  into  flames. 

Awakened  to  the  unspeakable  treachery  of  their  foe, 
officers  and  men  rushed  into  the  water  and  strove  with 
might  and  main  to  shove  the  boats  into  deep  water. 
They  failed,  for  the  unwieldy  craft  had  been  hauled 
purposely  too  high. 

Here  Ashe  and  Moore,  and  Bolton,  hero  of  that 
lonely  ride  through  the  enemy's  country,  fell.  Here, 
too,  men  shot  their  own  wives  and  children  rather  than 
permit  them  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  fiends  who  had 
planned  the  massacre.  Savage  troopers  urged  their 
horses  into  the  water  and  slashed  cowering  women 
with  their  sabers.  Infants  were  torn  from  their 
mothers'  arms,  and  tossed  by  sepoys  from  bayonet  to 
bayonet.  The  sick  and  wounded,  lying  helpless  in  the 
burning  craft,  died  in  the  agony  of  fire,  and  the  few 
bold  spirits  who  even  in  that  ghastly  hour  tried  to  beat 
off  their  cowardly  assailants  were  surrounded  and  shot 
down  by  overwhelming  numbers. 

105 


The  Red  Year 

One  heavily-laden  boat  was  dragged  into  the  stream, 
and  a  few  officers  and  men  clambered  on  board.  The 
voyage  they  made  would  supply  material  for  an  epic. 
They  were  followed  along  the  banks  and  pursued  by 
armed  craft  on  the  river.  They  fought  all  day  and 
throughout  the  night,  and,  when  the  ungoverned  boat 
ran  ashore  during  a  wild  squall  of  wind  and  rain  at 
daybreak,  the  surviving  soldiers,  a  sergeant  and  eleven 
men,  headed  by  Mowbray-Thomson  of  the  56th,  and 
Delafosse  of  the  53d,  sprang  out  and  charged  some 
hundreds  of  sepoys  and  hostile  villagers  who  had 
gathered  on  the  bank. 

The  craven-hearted  gang  yielded  before  the  English- 
men's fierce  onslaught.  The  tiny  band  turned  to  fight 
their  way  back,  and  found  that  the  boat  had  drifted 
off  again!  Then  they  seized  a  Hindu  temple  on  the 
bank  and  held  it  until  the  sepoys  piled  burning  timber 
against  the  rear  walls  and  threw  bags  of  powder  on 
the  fire! 

Fixing  bayonets  and  leaving  the  sergeant  dead  in 
the  doorway,  they  charged  again  into  the  mass  of  the 
enemy.  Six  fell.  The  remainder  reached  the  river, 
threw  aside  their  guns,  and  plunged  boldly  in.  Two 
were  shot  while  swimming,  and  one  man,  unable  to 
swim  any  distance,  coolly  made  his  way  ashore  again 
and  faced  his  murderers  until  he  sank  beneath  their 
blows. 

Mowbray-Thomson,  Delafosse,  and  Privates  Murphy 
and  Sullivan,  swam  six  miles  with  the  stream,  and  were 
finally  rescued  and  helped  by  a  friendly  native. 

106 


The  Well 

Those  four  were  all  who  came  alive  out  of  the  Inferno; 
of  Cawnpore.  The  boat,  after  clearing  the  shoal,  wa& 
captured  by  the  mutineers.  Major  Vibart  of  the  2d 
Cavalry,  who  was  so  severely  wounded  that  he  could 
not  join  in  the  earlier  fighting,  and  some  eighty  helpless 
souls  under  his  command,  were  brought  back  to  the 
city  of  death.  There,  by  orders  of  the  Nana,  the  men 
were  slain  forthwith  and  the  women  and  children  were 
taken  to  a  building  in  which  they  found  one  hundred 
and  twenty-five  others,  who  had  been  spared  for  the 
Brahmin's  own  terrible  purposes  from  the  butchery 
at  Massacre  Ghat  on  the  27th. 

Returning  to  Bithoor  the  Nana  was  proclaimed 
Peishwa  amid  the  booming  of  cannon  and  the  plaudits 
of  his  retainers.  He  passed  a  week  in  drunken  revels 
and  debauchery,  and  when,  in  ignorance  of  its  fate,  a 
small  company  of  European  fugitives  from  Fategarh 
sought  refuge  at  Cawnpore,  he  amused  himself  by 
having  all  the  men  but  three  killed  in  his  presence. 
These  three  and  the  women  and  children  who  accom- 
panied them,  were  sent  to  a  small  house  known  as  the 
Bibigarh,  in  which  the  whole  of  the  captives,  now 
numbering  two  hundred  and  eleven,  were  imprisoned. 

Many  died,  and  they  were  happiest.  The  survivors 
were  subjected  to  every  indignity,  given  the  coarsest 
food,  and  forced  to  grind  corn  for  their  conqueror,  who, 
early  in  July,  took  up  his  abode  in  a  large  building  at 
Cawnpore  overlooking  the  house  in  which  the  unhappy 
people  were  penned. 

But  the  period  of  their  earthly  sufferings  was  drawing 
107 


The  Red  Year 

to  a  close.  An  avenging  army  was  moving  swiftly  up 
the  Grand  Trunk  Road  from  Allahabad.  The  Nana's 
nephew  and  two  of  his  lieutenants,  leading  a  large  force 
against  the  British,  were  badly  defeated.  On  the  15th 
of  July  came  the  alarming  tidings  that  the  Feringhis 
were  only  a  day's  march  from  the  city. 

The  Furies  must  have  chosen  that  date.  The  Nana, 
the  man  who  thought  himself  fit  to  be  a  king,  decided 
that  Havelock  would  turn  back  if  there  were  no  more 
English  left  in  Cawnpore !  So  as  a  preliminary  to  the 
greater  tragedy,  five  men  who  had  escaped  death  thus 
far  —  no  one  knows  whence  two  of  them  came  —  were 
brought  forth  and  slaughtered  at  the  feet  of  the  re- 
nowned Peishwa.  Then  a  squad  of  sepoys  were  told 
to  "shoot  all  the  women  and  children  in  the  Bibigarh 
through  the  windows  of  the  house." 

Poor  wretches  —  they  were  afraid  to  refuse,  yet  their 
gorge  rose  at  the  deed,  and  they  fired  at  the  ceiling! 

Such  weakness  was  annoying  to  the  puissant  Brahmin. 
He  selected  two  Mohammedan  butchers,  an  Efghan, 
and  two  out-caste  Hindus,  to  do  his  bidding.  Armed 
with  long  knives  these  five  fiends  entered  the  shambles. 
Alas,  how  can  the  scene  that  followed  be  described! 

Yet,  not  even  then  was  the  sacrifice  complete. 
Some  who  were  wounded  but  not  killed,  a  few  children 
who  crept  under  the  garments  of  their  dead  mothers, 
lived  until  the  morning.  Not  all  the  native  soldiers 
were  so  lost  to  human  sympathies  that  they  did  not 
shudder  at  the  groans  and  muffled  cries  that  came  all 
night  from  the  house  of  sorrow.  Some  of  them  have 

108 


The  Well 

left  records  of  sights  and  sounds  too  horrible  to  translate 
from  their  Eastern  tongue. 

But  the  rumble  of  distant  guns  told  the  destroyer 
that  his  short-lived  hour  of  triumph  was  nearly  sped. 
In  a  paroxysm  of  rage  and  fear,  he  gave  the  final  order, 
and  the  Well  of  Cawnpore  thereby  attained  its  ghastly 
immortality.  By  his  command  all  that  piteous  com- 
pany of  women  and  children,  the  living  and  the  dead 
together,  were  thrown  into  a  deep  well  that  stood  in 
the  garden  of  Bibigarh  —  the  House  of  the  Woman. 

It  was  thus  that  Nana  Sahib  strove  to  cloak  his 
crime.  Yet  never  did  foul  murderer  flaunt  deed  more 
glaringly  in  the  face  of  Heaven.  Fifty  years  have 
passed,  myriads  of  human  beings  have  lived  and  died 
since  the  well  swallowed  the  Nana's  victims,  but  the 
memory  of  those  gracious  women,  of  those  golden- 
haired  children,  of  those  dear  little  infants  born  while 
the  guns  thundered  around  the  entrenchment,  shall 
endure  forever.  The  Nana  sought  oblivion  and  for- 
getfulness  for  his  sin.  He  earned  the  anger  of  the  gods 
and  the  malediction  of  the  world,  then  and  for  all  time. 


109 


CHAPTER  VH 

TO   LTJCKNOW 

THE  tragedy  of  Massacre  Ghat,  intensified  by  the 
crowning  infamy  of  the  Well,  brought  a  new  element 
into  the  struggle.  Hitherto  not  one  European  in  a 
hundred  in  India  regarded  the  Mutiny  as  other  than 
a  local,  though  serious,  attempt  to  revive  a  fallen 
dynasty.  The  excesses  at  Meerut,  Delhi,  and  other 
towns  were  looked  upon  as  the  work  of  unbridled 
mobs.  Sepoys  who  revolted  and  shot  their  officers 
came  under  a  different  category  to  the  slayers  of  tender 
women  and  children.  But  the  planned  and  ordered 
treachery  of  Cawnpore  changed  all  that.  Thenceforth 
every  British-born  man  in  the  country  not  only  realized 
that  the  government  had  been  forced  into  a  Titanic 
contest,  but  he  was  also  swayed  by  a  personal  and 
absorbing  lust  for  vengeance.  Officers  and  men,  regu- 
lars and  volunteers  alike,  took  the  field  with  the  fixed 
intent  of  exacting  an  expiatory  life  for  each  hair  on 
the  head  of  those  unhappy  victims.  And  they  kept 
the  vow  they  made.  To  this  day,  though  half  a  cen- 
tury has  passed,  the  fertile  plain  of  the  Doab  —  that 
great  tract  between  the  Ganges  and  the  Jumna  —  is 
dotted  with  the  ruins  of  gutted  towns  and  depopulated 

110 


To  Lucknow 

* 

villages.  But  that  was  not  yet.  India  was  fated  to 
be  almost  lost  before  it  was  won  again. 

On  the  night  of  June  4th,  when  the  roomy  budgerow 
carrying  Winifred  Mayne  and  her  escort  drifted  away 
from  the  walls  of  the  Nana's  palace  at  Bithoor,  there 
was  not  a  breath  of  wind  on  the  river.  The  mat  sail 
was  useless,  but  a  four-mile-an-hour  current  carried 
the  unwieldy  craft  slowly  down  stream,  and  there  was 
not  the  slightest  doubt  in  the  minds  of  either  of  the 
Englishmen  on  board  as  to  their  course  of  action. 

Mr.  Mayne  was  acquainted  with  Cawnpore  and 
Sir  Hugh  Wheeler  was  an  old  friend  of  his. 

"Wheeler  has  no  great  force  at  his  disposal,"  said 
he  to  Malcolm.  "It  is  evident  that  the  nati\e  regi- 
ments have  just  broken  out  here,  but,  by  this  time,  our 
people  in  the  cantonment  must  have  heard  of  events 
elsewhere,  and  they  have  surely  seized  the  Magazine, 
which  is  well  fortified  and  stands  on  the  river.  If  I 
can  believe  a  word  that  the  Nana  said,  the  sepoys  will 
rush  off  to  Delhi  to-night,  just  as  they  did  at  Meerut, 
Aligarh,  and  Etawah.  I  am  convinced  that  our  best 
plan  is  to  hug  the  right  bank  and  disembark  near  the 
Magazine." 

"  Is  it  far  ?  "  asked  Malcolm. 

"About  eight  miles." 

"  I  wonder  why  the  Begum  was  so  insistent  that  we 
should  go  back  along  the  Grand  Trunk  Road  ?  " 

Mayne  hesitated.  He  knew  that  Winifred  was 
listening. 

"  It  is  hard  to  account  for  the  vagaries  of  a  woman's 
111 


The  Red  Year 

mind,  or,  shall  I  say,  of  the  mind  of  such  a  woman," 
he  answered  lightly.  "You  will  remember  that  when 
you  came  to  our  assistance  outside  Meerut  she  was 
determined  to  take  us,  willy-nilly,  to  Delhi." 

Malcolm,  who  had  heard  Roshinara's  impassioned 
speech  and  looked  into  her  blazing  eyes,  thought  that 
her  motives  were  stronger  than  mere  caprice.  He 
never  dreamed  of  the  true  reason,  but  he  feared  that 
she  knew  Cawnpore  had  fallen  and  her  curiously 
friendly  regard  for  himself  might  have  inspired  her 
advice.  Here,  again,  Winifred's  presence  tied  his 
tongue. 

"Well,"  he  said,  with  a  cheerless  laugh,  "I,  at 
any  rate,  must  endeavor  to  reach  Wheeler.  I  am 
supposed  to  be  bearing  despatches,  but  they  were 
taken  from  me  when  I  was  knocked  off  my  horse  in 
the  village  —  " 

"  Were  you  attacked  ?  "  asked  Winifred,  and  the  quiet 
solicitude  in  her  voice  was  sweetest  music  in  her  lover's 
ears. 

His  brief  recital  of  the  night's  adventures  was  fol- 
lowed by  the  story  of  the  others'  journey  and  detention 
at  Bithoor.  It  may  be  thought  that  Mr.  Mayne,  with 
his  long  experience  of  India,  should  have  read  more 
clearly  the  sinister  lesson  to  be  derived  from  the  treat- 
ment meted  out  that  night  to  a  British  Officer  by  the 
detachment  of  sowars,  amplified,  as  it  was,  by  their 
open  references  to  the  Nana  as  a  Maharajah.  But  he 
was  not  yet  disillusioned.  And,  if  his  judgment  were 
at  fault,  he  erred  in  good  company,  for  Sir  Henry 

112 


To  Lucknow 

Lawrence,  Chief  Commissioner  at  Lucknow,  was  even 
then  resisting  the  appeals,  the  almost  insubordinate 
urging,  of  the  headstrong  Martin  Gubbins  that  the 
sepoys  in  the  capital  of  Oudh  should  be  disarmed. 

Meanwhile  the  boat  lurched  onward.  Soon  a  red 
glow  in  the  sky  proclaimed  that  they  were  nearing 
Cawnpore.  Though  well  aware  that  the  European 
houses  were  on  fire,  they  were  confident  that  the 
Magazine  would  be  held.  They  helped  Akhab  Khan, 
Chumru,  and  the  two  troopers  to  rig  a  pair  of  long 
sweeps,  and  prepared  to  guide  the  budgerow  to  the 
landing-place. 

Winifred  was  stationed  at  the  rudder.  As  it  chanced 
the  three  sowars  took  one  oar  and  Chumru  helped  the 
sahibs  with  the  other,  and  the  two  sets  of  rowers  were 
partly  screened  from  each  other  by  the  horses.  Mal- 
colm was  saying  something  to  Winifred  when  the 
native  bent  near  him  and  whispered: 

"Talk  on,  sahib,  but  listen!  Your  men  intend  to 
jump  ashore  and  leave  you.  They  have  been  bitten 
by  the  wolf.  Don't  try  to  stop  them.  Name  of  Allah, 
let  them  go!" 

Frank's  heart  throbbed  under  this  dramatic  develop- 
ment. He  had  no  reason  to  doubt  his  servant's  state- 
ment. The  faithful  fellow  had  nursed  him  through  a 
fever  with  the  devotion  of  a  brother,  and  Malcolm  had 
reciprocated  this  fidelity  by  refusing  to  part  with  him 
when  he,  in  turn,  was  stricken  down  by  smallpox. 
In  fact,  Frank  was  the  only  European  in  Meerut  who 
would  employ  the  man,  whose  extraordinary  appearance 

113 


against  him.  Cross-eyed,  wide-mouthed,  and 
broken-nosed,  with  a  straggling  black  beard  that  ill 
concealed  the  tokens  on  his  face  of  the  dread  disease 
from  which  he  had  suffered,  Chumru  looked  a  cut- 
throat of  the  worst  type,  "  a  hungry,  lean-fac'd  villain, 
a  mere  anatomy."  Aware  of  his  own  ill  repute,  he 
made  the  most  of  it.  He  tied  his  turban  with  an 
aggressive  twist,  and  was  wont  to  scowl  so  vindictively 
at  the  mess  khamsamah  that  his  master,  quite  uncon- 
sciously, always  secured  the  wing  of  a  chicken  or  the 
best  cut  of  the  joint. 

Yet  this  gnome-like  creature  was  true  to  his  salt  at 
a  time  when  he  must  have  felt  that  his  sahib,  together 
with  every  other  sahib  in  India,  was  doomed;  his  eyes 
now  shot  fiery,  if  oblique,  shafts  of  indignation  as  he 
muttered  his  thrilling  news. 

Malcolm  did  not  attempt  to  question  him.  He 
glanced  at  the  sowars,  and  saw  that  their  carbines  were 
slung  across  their  shoulders.  Chumru  interpreted  the 
look  correctly. 

"Akhab  Khan  prevented  those  Shia  dogs  from 
shooting  you  and  Mayne-sahib,"  went  on  the  low 
murmur.  "They  said,  huzoor,  that  the  Nana  wanted 
the  miss-sahib,  and  that  they  were  fools  to  help  you  in 
taking  her  away,  but  Akhab  Khan  swore  he  would 
iight  on  your  honor's  side  if  they  unslung  their  guns. 
They  do  not  know  I  heard  them  as  I  was  sitting  behind 
the  mast,  and  I  took  care  to  creep  off  when  their  heads 
were  turned  toward  the  shore." 

"Here  we  are,"  cried  Mayne,  who  little  guessed 
114 


To  Lucknow 

what  Chumru's  mumbling  portended.  "There  is  the 
ghat.1  If  it  were  not  for  the  mist  we  could  see  the 
Magazine  just  below,  on  the  left." 

Assuredly,  Frank  Malcolm's  human  clay  was  being 
tested  in  the  furnace  that  night.  He  had  to  decide 
instantly  what  line  to  follow.  In  a  minute  or  less  the 
boat  would  bump  against  the  lowermost  steps,  and,  if 
Akhab  Khan  and  his  companions  were,  indeed,  traitors, 
the  others  on  board  were  completely  at  their  mercy. 
Mayne  was  unarmed,  Chumru's  fighting  equipment 
lay  wholly  in  his  aspect,  while  Malcolm's  revolvers 
were  in  the  holsters,  and  his  sword  was  tied  to  Nejdi's 
saddle,  its  scabbard  and  belt  having  been  thrown  aside 
while  Abdul  Huq  was  robbing  him. 

The  broad-beamed  budgerow  presented  a  strangely 
accurate  microcosm  of  India  at  that  moment.  The 
English  people  on  her  deck  were  numerically  inferior 
to  the  natives,  and  deprived  by  accident  of  the  arms 
that  might  have  equalized  matters.  Their  little  army 
was  breathing  mutiny,  but  was  itself  divided,  if  Chumru 
were  not  mistaken,  seeing  that  all  were  for  revolt,  but 
one  held  out  that  the  Feringhis'  lives  should  be  spared. 
And,  even  there,  the  cruel  dilemma  that  offered  itself 
to  the  ruler  of  every  European  community  in  the 
country  was  not  to  be  avoided,  for,  if  Malcolm  tried  to 
obtain  his  weapons  his  action  might  be  the  signal  for 
a  murderous  attack,  while,  if  he  made  no  move,  he 
left  it  entirely  at  the  troopers'  discretion  whether  or 

1  In  this  instance,  steps  leading  down  to  the  river:  also,  a  mountain 
range. 

115 


The  Red  Year 

not  he  and  Mayne  should  be  shot  down  without  the 
power  to  strike  a  blow  in  self-defense. 

Luckily  he  had  the  gift  of  prompt  decision  that  is 
nine  tenths  of  generalship.  Saying  not  a  word  to 
alarm  Mayne,  who  was  still  weak  from  the  wound 
received  an  hour  earlier,  he  crossed  the  deck,  halting 
on  the  way  to  rub  Nejdi's  black  muzzle. 

The  sowars  were  watching  him.  With  steady 
thrust  of  the  port  sweep  they  were  heading  the  budge- 
row  toward  the  ghat. 

He  went  nearer  and  caught  the  end  of  the  heavy 
oar. 

"Pull  hard,  now,"  he  said  encouragingly,  "and  we 
will  be  out  of  the  current." 

He  was  facing  the  three  men,  and  his  order  was  a 
quite  natural  one  under  the  circumstances.  Obviously, 
he  meant  to  help.  Stretching  their  arms  for  a  long  and 
strong  stroke,  they  laid  on  with  a  will.  Instantly,  he 
pressed  the  oar  downwards,  thus  forcing  the  blade  out 
of  the  water,  and  threw  all  his  strength  into  its  unex- 
pected yielding.  Before  they  could  so  much  as  utter 
a  yell,  Akhab  Khan  and  another  were  swept  headlong 
into  the  river,  while  the  third  man  lay  on  his  back  on 
the  deck  with  Frank  on  top  of  him.  The  simplicity 
of  the  maneuver  insured  its  success.  Neither  Mayne 
nor  Winifred  understood  what  had  happened  until 
Malcolm  had  disarmed  the  trooper,  taken  his  cartridge 
pouch,  and  thrown  him  overboard  to  sink  or  swim  as 
fate  might  direct.  He  regretted  the  loss  of  Akhab 
Khan,  but  he  recalled  the  queer  expression  on  the 

116 


To  Lucknow 

man's  face  when  he  read  Bahadur  Shah's  sonorous 
titles. 

"Light  of  the  World,  Renowned  King  of  Kings, 
Lord  of  all  India,  Fuzl-Ilahi,  Panah-i-din ! " 

That  appeal  to  the  faith  was  too  powerful  to  be 
withstood.  Yet  Malcolm  was  glad  the  man  had  been 
chivalrous  in  his  fall,  for  he  had  taken  a  liking  to  him. 

Chumru,  of  course,  after  the  first  gasp  of  surprise, 
appreciated  the  sahib's  strategy. 

"  Shabash ! "  he  cried,  "  Wao,  wao,  huzoor ! 1  May 
I  never  see  the  White  Pond  of  the  Prophet  if  that  was 
not  well  planned." 

"Oh,  what  is  it?"  came  Winifred's  startled  excla- 
mation. It  was  so  dark,  and  the  horses,  no  less  than 
the  sail,  so  obscured  her  view  of  the  fore  part  of  the 
boat,  that  she  could  only  dimly  make  out  Malcolm's 
figure,  though  the  sounds  of  the  scuffle  and  splashing 
were  unmistakable. 

"  We  are  disbanding  our  native  forces  —  that  is  all," 
said  Frank.  "Press  the  tiller  more  to  the  left,  please. 
Yes,  that  is  right.  Now,  keep  it  there  until  we  touch 
the  steps." 

The  shimmering  surface  of  the  river  near  the  boat 
was  broken  up  into  ripples  surrounding  a  black  object. 
Malcolm  heard  the  quick  panting  of  one  in  whose 
lungs  water  had  mixed  with  air,  and  he  hated  to  think 
of  even  a  rebel  drowning  before  his  eyes.  Moved  by 
pity,  he  swung  the  big  oar  on  its  wooden  rest  until  the 
blade  touched  the  exhausted  man,  whose  hands  shot 

1 "  Bravo !     Well  done,  your  honor ! " 
117 


The  Red  Year 

out  in  the  hope  of  succor.  After  some  spluttering  a 
broken  voice  supplicated: 

"  Mercy,  sahib !  I  saved  you  when  you  were  in  my 
power.  Show  pity  now  to  me." 

"It  is  true,  then,  that  you  meant  to  desert,  Akhab 
Khan  ?  "  said  Frank  sternly. 

"Yes,  sahib.  One  cannot  fight  against  one's 
brothers,  but  I  swear  by  the  Prophet  —  " 

"Nay,  your  oaths  are  not  needed.  You,  at  least,  did 
not  wish  to  commit  murder.  Cling  to  that  oar.  The 
ghat  is  close  at  hand." 

"  Then,  sahib,  I  can  still  show  my  gratitude.  If  you 
would  save  the  miss-sahib,  do  not  land  here.  The 
Magazine  has  been  taken.  The  cavalry  have  looted 
the  Treasury.  All  the  sahib-log  have  fallen." 

"  Is  this  a  true  thing  that  thou  sayest  ?  " 

"May  I  sink  back  into  the  pit  if  it  be  not  the  tale 
we  heard  at  Bithoor!" 

By  this  time  Mayne  was  at  Frank's  side. 

"  I  fear  we  have  dropped  into  a  hornets'  nest,"  said 
he.  "There  is  certainly  an  unusual  turmoil  in  the 
bazaar,  and  houses  are  on  fire  in  all  directions." 

Even  while  they  were  listening  to  the  fitful  bellowing 
of  a  distant  mob  bent  on  mad  revel  a  crackle  of  mus- 
ketry rang  out,  but  died  away  as  quickly.  The  budge- 
row  grounded  lightly  when  her  prow  ran  against  the 
stonework  of  the  ghat.  Again  did  Malcolm  make  up 
his  mind  on  the  spur  of  the  moment. 

"I  will  spare  your  life  on  one  condition,  Akhab 
Khan,"  he  said.  "Go  ashore  and  learn  what  has 

118 


To  Liicknow 

taken  place  at  the  Magazine.  Return  here,  alone, 
within  five  minutes.  Mark  you,  I  say  'alone.'  If  I 
see  more  than  one  who  comes  I  shall  shoot." 

"  Huzoor,  I  shall  not  betray  you." 

"Go,  then." 

He  drew  the  man  through  the  water  until  his  feet 
touched  the  steps.  Climbing  up  unsteadily,  Akhab 
Khan  disappeared  in  the  gloom.  Then  they  waited  in 
silence.  The  heavy  breath  of  the  bazaar  was  pungent 
in  their  nostrils,  and,  for  a  few  seconds,  they  listened 
to  the  trooper's  retreating  footsteps.  Frank  leaped 
ashore  and  pushed  the  boat  off,  while  Mayne  held  her 
by  jamming  the  leeward  oar  into  the  mud.  It  was 
best  to  make  sure. 

They  did  not  speak.  Their  ears  were  strained  as 
their  tumultuous  thoughts.  At  last,  some  one  came,  a 
man,  and  his  firm  tread  of  boot-shod  feet  betokened  a 
soldier.  It  was  the  rebel  who  had  become  their  scout. 

"  Sahib,"  said  he,  "  it  is  even  as  I  told  you.  Cawn- 
pore  is  lost  to  you." 

"And  you,  Akhab  Khan,  do  you  go  or  stay?" 

There  was  another  moment  of  tense  silence. 

"Would  you  have  me  draw  sword  against  the  men 
of  my  own  faith  ?  "  was  the  despairing  answer. 

"It  would  not  be  for  the  first  time,"  said  Malcolm 
coldly.  "But  I  could  never  trust  thee  again.  Yet 
hast  thou  chosen  wrongly,  Akhab  Khan.  When  thy 
day  of  reckoning  comes,  may  it  be  remembered  in  thy 
favor  that  thou  didst  turn  most  unwillingly  against 
thy  masters!" 

119 


The  Red  Year 

Akhab  Khan  raised  his  right  hand  in  a  military 
salute.  Suddenly,  his  erect  form  became  indistinct, 
and  faded  out  of  sight.  The  boat  was  traveling  down 
stream  once  more.  Around  her  the  river  lapped  lazily, 
and  the  solemn  quietude  of  the  mist-covered  waters 
was  accentuated  by  the  far-off  turmoil  in  the  city. 

The  huge  sail  thrust  its  yard  high  above  the  fog 
bank,  and  watchers  on  the  river  side  saw  it.  Some  one 
hailed  in  the  vernacular,  and  Chumru  replied  that  they 
came  from  Bithoor  with  hay.  Prompted  by  Malcolm 
he  went  on: 

"  How  goes  the  good  work,  brother  ?  " 

"  Rarely,"  came  the  voice.  "  I  have  already  requited 
two  bunniahs  to  whom  I  owed  money.  Gold  is  to  be 
had  for  the  taking.  Leave  thy  budgerow  at  the  bridge, 
friend,  and  join  us." 

The  raucous,  half-drunken  accents  substantiated 
Akhab  Khan's  story.  The  unseen  speaker  was  evi- 
dently himself  a  boatman.  He  was  rejoicing  in  the 
upheaval  that  permitted  debts  to  be  paid  with  a  blud- 
geon and  money  to  be  made  without  toil. 

Mayne  caught  Frank  by  the  arm. 

"We  are  drifting  towards  the  bridge  of  boats  that 
carries  the  road  to  Lucknow  across  the  river,"  he  said, 
in  the  hurried  tone  of  a  man  who  sees  a  new  and 
paralyzing  danger.  "There  is  a  drawbridge  for  river 
traffic,  but  how  shall  we  find  it,  and,  in  any  event,  we 
must  be  seen." 

"Are  there  many  houses  on  the  opposite  bank?" 
asked  Malcolm. 

120 


To  Lucknow 

"Not  many.  They  are  mostly  mud  hovels.  What 
is  in  your  mind  ?  " 

"We  might  endeavor  to  cross  the  river  before  we 
reach  the  bridge.  By  riding  boldly  along  the  Lucknow 
Road  we  shall  place  many  miles  between  ourselves  and 
Cawnpore  before  day  breaks." 

"  That  certainly  seems  to  offer  our  best  chance.  We 
have  plenty  of  horses  and  we  ought  to  be  in  Lucknow 
soon  after  dawn." 

"  What  if  matters  are  as  bad  there  ?  " 

"  Impossible !  Lawrence  has  a  whole  regiment  with 
him,  the  32d,  and  plenty  of  guns.  Poor  Wheeler,  at 
Cawnpore,  commanded  a  depot,  mostly  officials  on  the 
staff,  and  invalids.  At  any  rate,  Malcolm,  we  must 
have  some  objective.  Lucknow  spells  hope.  Neither 
Meerut  nor  Allahabad  is  attainable.  And  what  will 
become  of  Winifred  if  we  fail  to  reach  some  station 
that  still  holds  out?" 

The  girl  herself  now  came  to  them. 

"I  refuse  to  remain  alone  any  longer,"  she  said. 
"I  don't  know  a  quarter  of  what  is  going  on.  I  have 
tied  the  tiller  with  a  rope.  Please  tell  me  what  is 
happening  and  why  a  man  shouted  to  Chumru  from 
the  bank." 

She  spoke  calmly,  with  the  pleasantly  modulated 
voice  of  a  well-bred  Englishwoman.  If  aught  were 
wanted  to  enhance  the  contrast  between  the  peace  of 
the  river  and  the  devildom  of  Cawnpore  it  was  given 
in  full  measure  by  her  presence  there.  How  little  did 
she  realize  the  long  drawn-out  agony  that  was  even 

121 


The  Red  Year 

then  beginning  for  her  sisters  in  that  ill-fated  entrench- 
ment! It  was  the  idle  whim  of  fortune  that  she  was 
not  with  them.  And  not  one  was  destined  to  live  — 
not  one  among  hundreds! 

But  it  was  a  time  for  action,  not  for  speech.  Mal- 
colm asked  her  gently  to  go  back  to  the  helm  and 
keep  it  jammed  hard-a-starboard  until  they  arrived  at 
the  left  bank.  Then  he  took  an  oar  and  Mayne  and 
Chumru  tackled  the  other.  The  three  men  pulled 
manfully  athwart  the  stream.  They  could  not  tell 
what  progress  they  were  making,  and  the  Ganges  ran 
swiftly  in  mid-channel,  being  five  times  as  wide  as  the 
Thames  at  London  Bridge.  Yet  they  toiled  on  with 
desperate  energy.  They  had  crossed  the  swirl  of  deep 
water  when  a  low,  straight-edged  barrier  appeared  on 
the  starboard  side,  and,  before  they  could  attempt  to 
avert  the  calamity,  the  budgerow  crashed  against  a 
pontoon  and  drove  its  bows  under  the  superstructure. 
It  was  locked  there  so  firmly  that  a  score  of  men  had 
to  labor  for  hours  next  day  ere  it  could  be  cleared. 

Nevertheless,  that  which  they  regarded  as  a  misfor- 
tune was  a  blessing.  The  shock  of  the  collision 
alarmed  the  horses,  and  one  of  them  climbed  like  a  cat 
on  to  the  bridge.  Frank  sprang  after  him  and  caught 
the  reins  before  the  startled  creature  could  break  away. 
And  that  which  one  horse  could  do  might  be  done  by 
seven.  Bidding  Chumru  arrange  some  planks  to  give 
the  others  better  foothold,  he  told  Winifred  and  Mayne 
to  join  him  and  help  in  holding  the  animals  as  they 
gained  the  roadway.  A  couple  of  natives  who  ran  up 

122 


To  Lucknow 

from  the  Lucknow  side  were  peremptorily  ordered  to 
stand.  Indeed,  they  were  harmless  coolies  and  soon 
they  offered  to  assist,  for  the  deadly  work  in  Cawnpore 
that  night  was  scarcely  known  to  them  as  yet.  In  a 
couple  of  minutes  the  fugitives  were  mounted,  each  of 
the  men  leading  a  spare  horse  and  advancing  at  a 
steady  trot;  though  the  bridge  swayed  and  creaked  a 
good  deal  under  this  forbidden  pace,  they  soon  found 
by  the  upward  grade  that  they  were  crossing  the 
sloping  mud  bank  leading  to  the  actual  highway. 

Thirty-five  miles  of  excellent  road  now  separated 
them  from  Lucknow.  The  hour  was  not  late,  about 
half  past  ten,  so  they  had  fully  six  hours  of  starlit 
obscurity  in  which  to  travel,  because,  though  the  month 
was  June,  India  is  not  favored  with  the  prolonged 
twilight  of  dawn  and  eve  familiar  to  other  latitudes. 

They  clattered  through  the  outlying  bazaar  without 
disturbing  a  soul.  Probably  every  man,  woman  and 
child  able  to  walk  was  adding  to  the  din  in  the  great 
city  beyond  the  river.  Pariah  dogs  yelped  at  them, 
some  heavy  carts  drawn  across  the  road  caused  a 
momentary  halt,  and  a  herd  of  untended  buffaloes 
lying  patiently  near  their  byre  told  the  story  of  the 
excitement  that  had  drawn  their  keeper  across  the 
bridge. 

Soon  they  were  in  the  open,  and  a  fast  canter  became 
permissible.  They  passed  by  many  a  temple  devoted 
to  Kali  or  elephant-headed  Buddha,  by  many  a  sacred 
mosque  or  tomb  of  Mohammedan  saint,  by  many  a 
holy  tree  decorated  with  ribbons  in  honor  of  its  tutelary 

123 


The  Red  Year 

deity.  Now  they  were  flying  between  lanes  of  sugar- 
cane or  tall  castor-oil  plants,  now  traversing  arid  spaces 
where  reh,  the  efflorescent  salt  of  the  earth,  had  killed 
all  vegetation  and  reduced  a  once  fertile  land  to  a 
desert. 

Five  miles  from  Cawnpore  they  swept  through  the 
hamlet  of  Mungulwar.  They  saw  no  one,  and  no  one 
seemed  to  see  them,  though  it  is  hard  to  say  in  India 
what  eyes  may  not  be  peering  through  wattle  screen  or 
heavy  barred  door.  In  the  larger  village  of  Onao  they 
met  a  group  of  chowkidars,  or  watchmen,  in  the  main 
street.  These  men  salaamed  to  the  sahib-log,  prob- 
ably on  account  of  the  stir  created  by  the  horses. 
Without  drawing  rein,  they  pushed  on  to  Busseerut- 
gunge,  crossed  the  river  Sai  and  neared  the  village  of 
Bunnee. 

If  only  men  could  read  the  future,  how  Malcolm's 
soldier  spirit  would  have  kindled  as  Mayne  told  him 
the  names  of  those  squalid  communities!  Each  yard 
of  that  road  was  destined  to  be  sprinkled  with  British 
blood,  while  its  ditches  would  be  choked  with  the 
bodies  of  mutineers.  But  these  things  were  behind 
the  veil,  and  the  one  dominant  thought  possessing 
Malcolm  now  was  that  unless  Winifred  and  her  uncle 
obtained  food  of  some  sort  they  must  fall  from  their 
saddles  with  sheer  exhaustion.  He  and  his  servant  had 
made  a  substantial  meal  early  in  the  evening,  but  the 
others  had  eaten  nothing  owing  to  the  alarm  and 
confusion  that  reigned  at  Bithoor. 

Winifred,  indeed,  in  response  to  a  question,  said 
124 


To  Lucknow 

> 
faintly  that  she  thought  she  could  keep  going  if  she  had 

a  drink  of  milk.  Such  an  admission,  coming  from  her 
brave  lips,  warned  Frank  that  he  must  call  a  halt 
regardless  of  loss  of  time.  Assuredly,  this  was  an  occa- 
sion when  the  sacrifice  of  a  few  minutes  might  avoid 
the  grave  risk  of  a  breakdown  after  daybreak.  So 
when  they  entered  Bunnee  they  pulled  up,  and  discussed 
ways  and  means  of  getting  something  to  eat. 

It  was  then  that  Malcolm  gave  evidence  that  his 
devotion  to  the  soldier's  art  had  not  been  practised  in 
vain.  Mr.  Mayne  thought  they  should  rouse  the 
household  at  the  first  reputable  looking  dwelling  they 
found. 

"No,"  said  Frank.  "Mounted,  and  in  motion,  we 
have  some  chance  of  escape  unless  we  fall  in  with 
hostile  cavalry.  On  foot,  we  are  at  the  mercy  of  any 
prowling  rascals  who  may  be  on  the  warpath.  Let  us 
rather  look  out  for  a  place  somewhat  removed  from 
the  main  road.  There  we  do  not  court  observation, 
and  we  are  sufficiently  well  armed  to  protect  ourselves 
from  any  hostile  move  on  the  part  of  those  we  summon." 

The  older  man  agreed.  Rank  and  wealth  count  for 
little  in  the  great  crises  of  life.  Here  was  a  Judicial 
Commissioner  of  Oudh  a  fugitive  in  his  own  province, 
and  ready  to  obey  a  subaltern's  slightest  wish! 

Chumru  quickly  picked  out  the  house  of  a  zemindar, 
or  land-owner,  which  stood  in  its  own  walled  enclosure 
behind  a  clump  of  trees.  A  rough  track  led  to  the 
gate,  and  Frank  knocked  loudly  on  an  iron-studded 
door. 

125 


The  Red  Year 

He  used  the  butt  end  of  a  revolver,  so  his  rat-tat  was 
imperative  enough,  but  the  garden  might  have  been  a 
graveyard  for  all  the  notice  that  was  taken  by  the 
inhabitants.  He  knocked  again,  with  equal  vehemence 
and  with  the  same  result.  But  he  knew  his  zemindar, 
and  after  waiting  a  reasonable  interval  he  said  clearly : 

"  Unless  the  door  is  opened  at  once  it  will  be  forced. 
I  am  an  officer  of  the  Company,  and  I  demand  an 
entry." 

"  Coming,  sahib,"  said  an  anxious  voice.  "  We  knew 
not  who  knocked,  and  there  are  many  budmashes  about 
these  nights." 

The  door  yielded  to  the  withdrawal  of  bolts,  but  it 
was  still  held  on  a  chain.  A  man  peeped  out,  satisfied 
himself  that  there  really  were  sahib-log  waiting  at  his 
gate,  and  then  unfastened  the  chain,  with  apologies  for 
his  forgetfulness.  Three  men  servants,  armed  with 
lathis,  long  sticks  with  heavy  iron  ferrules  at  both  ends, 
stood  behind  him,  and  they  all  appeared  to  be  exceed- 
ingly relieved  when  they  heard  that  their  midnight 
visitors  only  asked  for  water,  milk,  eggs,  and  chupat- 
ties,  on  the  score  that  they  were  belated  and  had  no 
food. 

The  zemindar  civilly  invited  them  to  enter,  but  Frank 
as  civilly  declined,  fearing  that  the  smallness  of  their 
number,  the  absence  of  a  retinue,  and  the  cavalry 
accouterments  of  the  horses,  might  arouse  comment,  if 
not  suspicion. 

Happily  the  owner  of  the  house  recognized  Mr. 
Mayne,  and  then  he  bestirred  himself.  All  they  sought 

126 


To  Lucknow 

for,  and  more,  was  brought.  Chairs  were  provided  — 
rare  luxuries  in  native  dwellings  at  that  date  —  and, 
this  being  a  Mohammedan  family,  some  excellent 
cooked  meat  was  added  to  the  feast.  Before  long 
Winifred  was  able  to  smile  and  say  that  she  had  not 
been  so  disgracefully  hungry  since  she  left  school. 

The  zemindar  courteously  insisted  that  they  should 
taste  some  mangoes  on  which  he  prided  himself,  and 
he  also  staged  a  quantity  of  lichis,  a  delicious  fruit, 
closely  resembling  a  plover's  egg  in  appearance,  pecu- 
liar to  India.  Nor  were  the  horses  forgotten.  They 
were  watered  and  fed,  and  if  by  this  time  the  nature 
of  the  cavalcade  had  been  recognized,  there  was  no 
change  in  the  man's  hospitable  demeanor. 

Not  for  an  instant  did  Frank's  watchful  attitude 
relax.  While  Mr.  Mayne  and  the  zemindar  discoursed 
on  the  disturbed  state  of  the  country  he  snatched  the 
opportunity  to  exchange  a  few  tender  words  with 
Winifred.  But  his  eyes  and  ears  were  alert,  and  he 
was  the  first  to  hear  the  advent  of  a  large  body  of 
horses  along  the  main  road. 

He  stood  up  instantly,  blew  out  a  lantern  which  was 
placed  on  the  ground  for  the  benefit  of  himself  and  the 
others,  and  said  quietly: 

"A  regiment  of  cavalry  is  approaching.  We  do  not 
wish  to  be  seen  by  them.  Let  no  man  stir  or  show  a 
light  until  they  have  gone." 

He  had  the  military  trick  of  putting  an  emphatic 
order  in  the  fewest  and  simplest  words.  A  threat  was 
out  of  the  question,  after  the  manner  in  which  the  party 

127 


The  Red  Year 

had  been  received,  but  it  is  likely  that  each  native 
present  felt  that  his  life  would  not  be  of  great  value  if 
he  attempted  to  draw  the  attention  of  the  passers-by 
to  the  presence  of  Europeans  at  the  door  of  that 
secluded  zemindari. 

The  tramp  of  horses'  feet  and  the  jingle  of  arms  and 
trappings  could  now  be  distinguished  plainly.  At  first 
Winifred  feared  that  they  were  troops  sent  in  pursuit 
of  them  by  the  Nana,  and  she  whispered  the  question : 

"  Are  they  from  Cawnpore,  Frank  ?  " 

"No,"  he  answered,  placing  a  reassuring  hand  on 
her  shoulder.  "I  cannot  see  them,  but  their  horses 
are  walking,  so  they  cannot  have  come  our  way.  They 
are  cavalry  advancing  from  the  direction  of  Luck- 
now." 

"Perhaps  they  are  marching  to  the  relief  of  Cawn- 
pore ?  " 

"Let  us  hope  so.  But  we  must  not  risk  being 
seen." 

"Your  words  are  despondent,  dear.  Do  you  think 
the  whole  native  army  is  against  us  ? " 

"  I  scarcely  know  what  to  think,  sweetheart.  Things 
look  black  in  so  many  directions.  Once  we  are  in 
Lucknow,  and  able  to  hear  what  has  really  happened 
elsewhere,  we  shall  be  better  able  to  judge." 

The  ghostly  squadrons  clanked  past,  unseen  and  un- 
seeing. When  the  road  was  quiet  again  Winifred  and 
her  small  bodyguard  remounted.  The  zemindar  was 
not  a  man  who  would  accept  payment,  so  Mr.  Mayne 
gave  his  servants  some  money.  It  may  be  that  this 

128 


To  Lucknow 

Mohammedan  gentleman  wondered  if  he  had  acted 
rightly  when  the  emissaries  of  the  Nana  scoured  the 
country  next  day  for  news  of  the  miss-sahib  and  two 
sahibs  who  rode  towards  Lucknow  in  the  small  hours 
of  the  morning.  Being  a  wise  man  he  held  his  peace. 
He  had  cast  his  bread  upon  the  waters,  and  did  not 
regret  it,  though  he  little  reckoned  on  the  return  it 
would  make  after  many  days. 

Reinvigorated  by  the  excellent  meal,  the  travelers 
found  that  their  horses  had  benefited  as  greatly  as 
they  themselves  by  the  food  and  brief  rest. 

They  had  no  more  adventures  on  the  way.  Winifred 
did  not  object  to  riding  astride  while  it  was  dark,  but 
she  did  not  like  the  experience  in  broad  daylight,  and 
when  they  met  a  Eurasian  in  a  tikka-gharry,  or  hired 
conveyance,  in  the  environs  of  Lucknow,  she  was 
almost  as  delighted  to  secure  the  vehicle  as  to  learn 
that  the  city,  though  disturbed,  was  "quite  safe  from 
mutiny." 

That  was  the  man's  phrase,  and  it  was  eloquent  of 
faith  in  the  genius  of  Henry  Lawrence. 

"Quite  safe!"  he  assured  them,  though  they  had 
only  escaped  capture  by  a  detachment  of  rebel  cavalry 
by  the  merest  fluke  three  hours  earlier. 

They  were  standing  opposite  the  gate  of  a  great 
walled  enclosure  known  as  the  Alumbagh,  a  summer 
retreat  built  by  an  old  nawab  for  a  favorite  wife.  And 
that  was  in  June!  In  six  short  months  Havelock 
would  be  lying  there  in  his  grave,  and  men  would  be 
talking  from  pole  to  pole  of  the  wondrous  things  done 

129 


The  Red  Year 

at  Lucknow,  both  by  those  who  held  it  and  those  who 
twice  relieved  it. 

"Quite  safe!" 

It  was  high  time  men  ceased  to  use  that  phrase  in 
India. 


130 


CHAPTER  VIII 

WHEREIN   A   MOHAMMEDAN  FRATERNIZES   WITH 
A   BRAHMIN 

"  WE  seem  to  be  attracting  a  fair  share  of  attention," 
said  Malcolm,  as  they  crossed  a  bridge  over  the  canal 
that  bounded  Lucknow  on  the  south  and  east. 

"We  look  rather  odd,  don't  we?"  asked  Winifred, 
cheerfully.  "  Three  mounted  men  leading  four  horses, 
and  a  disheveled  lady  in  a  ramshackle  vehicle  like 
this,  would  draw  the  eyes  of  a  mob  anywhere.  Thank 
goodness,  though,  the  people  appear  to  be  quite  peace- 
ably inclined." 

"Y-yes." 

"Why  do  you  agree  so  grudgingly?" 

"  Well,  I  have  not  been  here  before  —  are  the  streets 
usually  so  crowded  at  this  hour?" 

"Lucknow,  like  every  other  Indian  city,  is  early 
astir.  Perhaps  they  have  heard  of  the  fall  of  Cawn- 
pore.  It  is  one  of  the  marvels  of  India  how  quickly 
news  spreads.  Isn't  that  so,  uncle?" 

"  No  man  knows  how  rumor  travels  here,"  said  Mr. 
Mayne.  "It  beats  the  telegraph  at  times.  But  the 
probability  is  that  Lucknow  has  surprises  in  store  for 
us.  While  we  were  bottled  up  in  Bithoor  things  have 
been  happening  elsewhere." 

131 


The  Red  Year 

His  guess  was  only  too  accurate.  Not  only  had 
Nana  Sahib  long  been  in  treaty  with  the  disaffected 
Oudh  taluqdars,  but  Lucknow  itself  was  writhing  in 
the  first  stages  of  rebellion.  Although  by  popular 
reckoning  the  mutiny  broke  out  at  Meerut  on  May  10, 
there  was  trouble  in  Lucknow  in  April  with  the  48th 
Infantry,  and  again  on  May  3,  when  Lawrence's  firm 
measures  alone  prevented  the  7th  Oudh  Irregulars 
from  murdering  their  officers.  There  was  little  reason 
to  hope  that  this,  the  third  city  in  India,  should  not 
yield  readily  to  sedition-mongers.  The  dethroned 
King  of  Oudh,  with  his  courtiers  and  ministers,  still 
maintained  a  sort  of  royal  state  in  his  residence  at 
Calcutta,  and  his  emissaries  were  active  in  the  greased 
cartridge  propaganda,  telling  Hindus  that  the  paper 
wrappers  were  dipped  in  the  fat  of  cows,  while,  for  the 
benefit  of  Mohammedans,  a  variant  of  the  story  was 
supplied  by  the  substitution  of  pig's  lard. 

It  is  believed  too,  that  the  passing  of  a  chupatty,  or 
flat  cake,  from  village  to  village  in  the  Northwest 
Provinces  early  in  January  was  set  on  foot  by  one  of 
these  agitators  as  a  token  that  the  Government  was 
plotting  to  overthrow  the  religions  of  the  people.  The 
exact  significance  of  that  mysterious  symbol  has  never 
been  ascertained.  Like  the  "snowball"  petition  of 
the  West,  once  started,  it  soon  lost  its  first  meaning. 
Many  natives  regarded  it  merely  as  the  fulfilment  of 
a  devotee's  vow,  but  in  the  majority  of  instances  it  had 
an  unsettling  effect  on  the  simple  folk  who  received  it, 
and  this  was  precisely  what  its  originator  desired. 

132 


A  Mohammedan  Fraternizes  with  a  Brahmin 

Lucknow  was  not  only  the  natural  pivot  of  a  rich 
agricultural  district,  but  it  hummed  with  prosperous 
trade.  Every  type  of  Indian  humanity  gathered  in 
its  narrow  streets  and  lofty  houses,  and  excitement 
rose  to  fever  heat  when  the  local  trouble  with  the 
sepoys  was  given  force  to  by  the  isolation  of  the  Meerut 
white  garrison,  the  seizure  of  Delhi  and  the  sacking 
of  many  European  stations  in  the  Northwest.  On 
May  30,  the  71st  Native  Infantry  had  the  impudence 
to  fire  on  the  32d  Foot,  and  were  severely  mauled  for 
their  pains.  They  ran  off,  but  not  until  they  had 
murdered  Brigadier-General  Handscombe  and  Lieu- 
tenant Grant,  one  of  their  own  officers.  The  standard 
of  the  Prophet  was  raised  in  the  bazaar  and  a  fanatical 
mob  rallied  round  it.  They  killed  a  Mr.  Menpes, 
who  lived  in  the  city,  and  were  then  dispersed  by  the 
police. 

Unfortunately  the  7th  Cavalry  deserted  when  Law- 
rence marched  to  the  race-course  next  day  to  punish 
the  mutinous  sepoys  who  had  gathered  there.  But 
despite  the  lack  of  a  mounted  force,  a  number  of 
prisoners  were  taken  and  hanged  in  batches  on  a 
gallows  erected  on  the  Muchee  Bhowun,  a  fortress 
palace  situated  near  the  Residency. 

Thus  Lawrence  had  scotched  the  snake,  but  like 
Wheeler  at  Cawnpore  and  many  another  in  India  at 
that  time,  he  refused  to  kill  it  by  disarming  the  native 
regiments  under  his  command.  Nevertheless  they 
feared  him.  They  dared  not  show  their  fangs  in 
Lucknow.  They  stole  away  in  companies  and  squad- 

133 


rons,  glutting  their  predatory  instincts  by  slaughter 
and  pillage  elsewhere  before  they  headed  for  Delhi  or 
joined  one  of  the  numerous  pretenders  who  sprang 
into  being  in  emulation  of  Nana  Sahib.  It  was  one 
of  these  rebel  detachments  that  passed  the  four  fugi- 
tives from  Cawnpore  on  the  outskirts  of  Bunnee. 
Scattered  throughout  the  province  they  proved  as 
merciless  and  terrible  to  wealthy  natives  as  to  the 
Europeans  whom  they  met  in  flight  along  the  main 
roads. 

The  chaos  into  which  the  whole  country  fell  with 
such  extraordinary  swiftness  is  demonstrated  by  the 
varying  treatment  meted  out  to  different  people. 
Winifred  and  her  uncle,  under  Malcolm's  bold  leader- 
ship, reached  Lucknow  with  comparative  ease.  Poor 
little  Sophy  Christian,  aged  three,  having  lost  her 
mother  in  the  massacre  of  Sitapore,  was  taken  off  into 
the  jungle  by  Sir  Mountstuart  Jackson,  his  sister 
Madeline,  a  young  officer  named  Burnes,  and  Sur- 
geon-Major Morton.  They  fell  in  with  Captain  and 
Mrs.  Philip  Orr  and  their  child,  refugees  from  Aurun- 
gabad,  and  the  whole  party  experienced  almost  in- 
credible sufferings  during  nine  months.  Mrs.  Orr, 
her  little  girl  and  Miss  Jackson  did  not  escape  from 
their  final  prison  at  Lucknow  until  the  end  of  March, 
1858.  Sophy  Christian,  who  was  always  asking  pa- 
thetically "why  mummie  didn't  come,"  died  of  the 
hardships  she  had  to  endure,  while  the  men  were  shot 
in  cold  blood  by  the  sepoys  on  November  16. 

Yet  in  many  instances  the  rebels  either  told  their 
134 


A  Mohammedan  Fraternizes  with  a  Brahmin 

officers  to  go  away  or  escorted  them  to  the  nearest 
European  station,  while  the  villagers,  though  Usually 
hostile,  sometimes  treated  the  luckless  sahib-log  with 
genuine  kindness  and  sympathy. 

Mr.  Mayne  of  course  had  his  own  house  in  the 
cantonment,  which  was  situated  north  of  the  city, 
across  the  river  Goomtee.  Malcolm  wished  to  see 
uncle  and  niece  safely  established  in  their  bungalow 
before  he  reported  himself  at  the  Residency,  but  the 
older  man  thought  they  should  all  go  straight  to  the 
Chief  Commissioner  and  tell  him  what  had  happened 
at  Cawnpore. 

Threading  the  packed  bazaar  towards  the  Bailey 
Guard  —  that  gate  of  the  Residency  which  was  des- 
tined to  become  for  ever  famous  —  they  encountered 
Captain  Gould  Weston,  the  local  Superintendent  of 
Police,  and  his  first  words  undeceived  them  as  to  the 
true  position  of  affairs. 

"You  left  Cawnpore  last  night!"  he  cried.  "Then 
you  were  amazingly  lucky.  Wheeler  has  just  tele- 
graphed that  he  expects  to  be  invested  by  the  rebels 
to-day.  Not  that  you  will  be  much  better  off  here  in 
some  respects,  as  we  are  all  living  in  the  Residency. 
I  suppose  you  know  your  house  has  gone,  Mayne  ?  " 

"Gone!     Do  you  mean  that  it  is  destroyed?" 

"Burnt  to  the  ground.  There  is  hardly  a  building 
left  in  the  cantonment." 

"But  what  were  the  troops  doing?  At  any  rate, 
you  are  not  besieged  here  yet." 

"We  are  on  the  verge  of  it.  Unfortunately  the 
135 


The  Red  Year 

Chief  won't  bring  himself  to  disarm  the  sepoys,  and 
the  city  is  drifting  into  a  worse  condition  daily.  Half 
of  the  native  corps  have  bolted,  and  the  rest  are  ripe 
for  trouble  at  the  first  opportunity.  The  fires  are  the 
work  of  incendiaries.  We  have  caught  and  hanged  a 
few,  but  they  are  swarming  everywhere." 

"You  say  Wheeler  has  been  in  communication  with 
you  this  morning,"  said  the  perplexed  civilian.  "Are 
you  sure  ?  It  is  true  we  escaped  in  the  first  instance 
from  Bithoor,  but  Cawnpore  was  in  flames  last  night 
and  the  Magazine  in  possession  of  the  mutineers." 

"Oh,  yes.  We  know  that.  The  one  thing  these 
black  rascals  don't  understand  is  the  importance  of 
cutting  the  telegraph  wires.  Wheeler  has  thrown  up 
an  entrenchment  in  the  middle  of  a  maidan.  I  am 
afraid  he  is  in  a  tight  place,  as  he  is  asking  for  help 
which  we  cannot  send.  Well,  good-by!  Hope  to  see 
you  at  tiffin.  Miss  Mayne  must  make  herself  as  com- 
fortable as  she  can  in  the  women's  quarters,  and  pray, 
like  the  rest  of  us,  that  this  storm  may  soon  blow  over." 

He  rode  off,  followed  by  an  escort  of  mounted  police. 
Malcolm,  who  had  taken  no  part  in  the  conversation, 
listened  to  Weston's  words  with  a  sinking  heart.  He 
had  failed  doubly,  then,  in  the  mission  entrusted  to 
him  by  Colvin.  Not  only  were  his  despatches  lost,  but 
he  was  mistaken  in  believing  that  the  Cawnpore  gar- 
rison was  overpowered.  He  had  turned  back  at  a 
moment  when  he  should  have  strained  every  nerve  to 
reach  his  destination.  That  was  intolerable.  The 
memory  of  the  hawk-nosed,  steel-eyed  officer  who 

136 


A  Mohammedan  Fraternizes  with  a  Brahmin 

rode  from  Kurnaul  to  Meerut  in  twenty-four  hours 
smote  him  like  a  whip.  Would  Hodson  —  the  man 
who  was  prepared  to  cross  the  infernal  regions  if  duty 
called  —  would  he  have  quitted  Cawnpore  without 
making  sure  that  Sir  Hugh  Wheeler  was  dead  or  a 
prisoner  ? 

The  answer  to  that  unspoken  question  brought  such 
a  look  of  pain  to  Frank's  face  that  Winifred,  watching 
him  from  the  carriage  window,  wondered  what  was 
wrong.  She,  too,  had  heard  the  policeman's  state- 
ment and  was  greatly  relieved  by  it.  Why  should  her 
lover  be  so  perturbed,  she  wondered?  Was  it  not 
good  news  that  the  English  in  Cawnpore  were  at  least 
endeavoring  to  hold  Nana  Sahib  at  bay?  It  was  on 
the  tip  of  her  tongue  to  ask  what  sudden  cloud  had 
fallen  on  him  when  the  carriage  swung  through  a 
gateway  and  she  found  herself  inside  the  Residency. 
The  breathless  greetings  exchanged  between  herself 
and  many  of  her  friends  among  the  ladies  of  the  gar- 
rison drove  from  her  mind  the  misery  she  had  seen  in 
Frank's  stern-set  features.  But  the  thought  recurred 
later  and  she  spoke  of  it. 

Now  Malcolm  had  already  visited  Sir  Henry  Law- 
rence and  told  him  the  exact  circumstances.  The 
Chief  Commissioner  exonerated  him  from  any  blame 
and,  as  a  temporary  matter,  appointed  him  an  extra 
A.D.C.  on  his  staff.  But  the  sore  rankled  and  it  was 
destined  in  due  time  to  affect  the  young  officer's 
fortunes  in  the  most  unexpected  way. 

Above  all  else  he  did  not  want  Winifred  to  know  that 
137 


The  Red  Year 

solicitude  in  her  behalf  had  drawn  him  from  the  path 
of  duty.  So  he  fenced  with  her  sympathetic  inquiries, 
and  she,  womanlike,  began  to  search  for  some  short- 
coming on  her  own  part  to  account  for  her  lover's 
gloom.  Thus,  not  a  rift,  but  an  absence  of  full  and 
complete  understanding,  existed  between  them,  and 
each  was  conscious  of  it,  though  Malcolm  alone  knew 
its  cause. 

But  that  little  cloud  only  darkened  their  own  small 
world.  Around  them  was  the  clash  of  arms  and  the 
din  of  preparation  for  the  "fortnight's  siege"  which 
Lawrence  thought  the  Residency  might  withstand  if 
held  resolutely!  In  truth,  there  never  was  a  fortifi- 
cation, with  the  exception  of  that  four-foot  mud  wall 
at  Cawnpore,  less  calculated  to  repel  the  assault  of 
a  determined  foe  than  the  ill-planned  defenses  which 
provided  the  last  English  refuge  in  Oudh. 

Winifred  soon  proved  that  she  was  of  good  metal. 
The  alarms  and  excursions  of  the  past  three  weeks 
were  naturally  trying  to  a  girl  born  and  bred  in  a  quiet 
Devon  village.  But  heredity,  mostly  blamed  for  the 
transmission  of  bad  qualities,  supplies  good  ones,  too, 
whether  in  man  or  maid.  Descended  on  her  father's 
side  from  a  race  of  soldiers  and  diplomats,  her  mother 
was  a  Yorkshire  Trenholme,  and  it  is  said  on  Hamble- 
don  Moor  that  there  were  Trenholmes  in  Yorkshire 
before  there  was  a  king  in  England.  In  spite  of  the 
terrific  heat  and  the  discomfort  of  her  new  surround- 
ings she  made  light  of  difficulties,  found  solace  herself 
by  cheering  others,  and  quickly  attained  a  prominent 

138 


A  Mohammedan  Fraternizes  with  a  Brahmin 

place  in  that  small  band  of  devoted  women  whose 
names  will  live  until  the  story  of  Lucknow  is  forgotten. 

She  met  Frank  only  occasionally  and  by  chance, 
their  days  being  full  of  work  and  striving.  A  smile, 
a  few  tender  words,  perhaps  nothing  more  than  a 
hurried  wave  of  the  hand  in  passing,  constituted  their 
love  idyll,  for  Lawrence  fell  ill  and  his  aides  were 
kept  busy,  day  and  night,  in  passing  to  and  fro  be- 
tween the  bedside  of  the  stricken  leader  and  the  many 
posts  where  his  counsel  was  sought  or  the  hasty  pro- 
vision of  defense  lagged  for  his  orders. 

The  Chief  was  so  worn  out  with  anxiety  and  sleep- 
less labor  that  on  June  9  he  delegated  his  authority 
to  a  provisional  council.  Then  the  impetuous  and 
chivalric  Martin  Gubbins,  Financial  Commissioner  of 
Oudh,  saw  a  means  of  attaining  by  compromise  that 
which  he  had  vainly  urged  on  Lawrence  —  he  per- 
suaded the  commanding  officers  of  the  native  regi- 
ments in  Lucknow  to  tell  their  men  to  go  home  on 
furlough  until  November. 

This  was  actually  done,  but  Lawrence  was  so  in- 
dignant when  he  heard  of  it  that  he  dissolved  the 
council  on  June  12  and  sent  Malcolm  and  other  officers 
to  recall  the  sepoys.  Five  hundred  came  back,  vowing 
that  they  would  stand  by  " Lar-rence-sahib  Bahadur" 
till  the  last.  They  kept  their  word;  they  shared  the 
danger  and  glory  of  the  siege  with  the  32d  and  the 
British  Artillery. 

Gubbins,  a  born  firebrand,  then  pressed  his  superior 
to  attack  a  rebel  force  that  had  gathered  at  the  village 
•  139 


The  Red  Year 

of  Chinhut,  ten  miles  northeast  of  Lucknow.  Unfor- 
tunately Lawrence  yielded,  marched  out  with  seven 
hundred  men,  half  of  whom  were  Europeans,  and  was 
badly  defeated,  owing  to  the  desertion  of  some  native 
gunners  at  a  critical  moment. 

A  disastrous  rout  followed.  Colonel  Case  of  the 
32d,  trying  vainly  with  his  men  to  stop  the  native 
runaways,  was  shot  dead.  For  three  miles  the  enemy's 
horse  artillery  pelted  the  helpless  troops  with  grape, 
and  the  massacre  of  every  man  in  the  small  column 
was  prevented  only  by  the  bravery  of  a  tiny  squadron 
of  volunteer  cavalry,  which  held  a  bridge  until  the 
harassed  infantry  were  able  to  cross. 

Lawrence,  when  the  day  was  lost,  rode  back  to 
prepare  the  hapless  Europeans  in  the  city  for  the 
hazard  that  now  threatened.  The  investment  of  the 
Residency  could  not  be  prevented.  It  was  a  ques- 
tion whether  the  mutineers  would  not  surge  over  it  in 
triumph  within  the  hour.  » 

From  the  windows  of  the  lofty  building  which  gave 
its  name  to  the  cluster  of  houses  within  the  walls,  the 
despairing  women  saw  their  exhausted  fellow-country- 
men fighting  a  dogged  rear-guard  action  against  twenty 
times  as  many  rebels.  Some  poor  creatures,  straining 
their  eyes  to  find  in  the  ranks  of  the  survivors  the 
husband  they  would  never  see  again,  clasped  their 
children  to  their  breasts  and  shrieked  in  agony.  Others, 
like  Lady  Inglis,  knelt  and  read  the  Litany.  A  few, 
and  among  them  was  Winifred,  ran  out  with  vessels 
full  of  water  and  tended  the  wants  of  the  almost  chok- 

140 


A  Mohammedan  Fraternizes  with  a  Brahmin 

ing  soldiers  who  were  staggering  to  the  shelter  of  the 
veranda. 

She  had  seen  Lawrence  gallop  to  his  quarters,  and 
his  drawn,  haggard  face  told  her  the  worst.  He  was 
accompanied  by  two  staff  officers,  but  Malcolm  was 
not  with  him.  The  pandemonium  that  reigned  every- 
where for  many  minutes  made  it  impossible  that  she 
should  obtain  any  news  of  her  lover's  fate.  While  the 
soldiers  were  flocking  through  the  narrow  streets  that 
flanked  or  enfiladed  the  walls,  the  native  servants  and 
coolies  engaged  on  the  defenses  deserted  en  masse. 
The  rebel  artillery  was  beginning  to  batter  the  more 
exposed  buildings;  the  British  guns  already  in  posi- 
tion took  up  the  challenge;  sepoys  seized  the  adjoining 
houses  and  commenced  a  deadly  musketry  fire  that 
was  far  more  effective  than  the  terrifying  cannonade; 
and  the  men  of  the  garrison  who  had  not  taken  part  in 
that  fatal  sortie  rushed  to  their  posts,  determined  to 
stem  at  all  costs  the  imminent  assault  of  the  victorious 
mutineers. 

An  officer  seeing  Winifred  carrying  water  to  some 
men  who  were  lying  in  a  position  that  would  soon  be 
swept  by  two  guns  mounted  near  a  bridge  across  the 
Goomtee,  known  as  the  Iron  Bridge,  ordered  the 
soldiers  to  seek  a  safer  refuge. 

"And  you,  Miss  Mayne,  you  must  not  remain  here,'* 
he  went  on.  "You  will  only  lose  your  life,  and  we 
want  brave  women  like  you  to  live." 

Winifred  recognized  him  though  his  face  was  black- 
ened with  powder  and  grime.  Her  own  wild  imagin- 

141 


The  Red  Year 

ings  made  death  seem  preferable  to  the  anguish  of  her 
belief  that  Frank  had  fallen. 

"Oh,  Captain  Fulton,"  she  said,  "can  you  tell  me 
what  has  become  of  —  of  Mr.  Malcolm  ?  " 

"Yes,"  he  said,  summoning  a  gallant  smile  as  an 
earnest  of  good  news.  "  I  heard  the  Chief  tell  him  to 
make  the  best  of  his  way  to  Allahabad.  That  is  the 
only  quarter  from  which  help  can  be  expected,  and 
to-day's  disaster  renders  help  imperative.  Now,  my 
dear  child,  don't  take  it  to  heart  in  that  way.  Mal- 
colm will  win  through,  never  fear!  He  is  just  the  man 
for  such  a  task,  and  each  mile  he  covers  means  — "  he 
paused;  a  round  shot  crashed  against  a  gable  and 
brought  down  a  chimney  with  a  loud  rattle  of  falling 
bricks  — "  means  so  many  minutes  less  of  this  sort 
of  thing." 

But  Winifred  neither  saw  nor  heard.  Her  eyes  were 
blinded  with  tears,  her  brain  dazed  by  the  knowledge 
that  her  lover  had  undertaken  alone  a  journey  de- 
clared impossible  from  the  more  favorably  situated 
station  of  Cawnpore  many  days  earlier. 

She  managed  somehow  to  find  her  uncle.  Perhaps 
Fulton  spared  a  moment  to  take  her  to  him.  She 
never  knew.  When  next  her  ordered  mind  appre- 
ciated her  environment  that  last  day  of  June,  1857, 
was  drawing  to  its  close  and  the  glare  of  rebel  watch 
fires,  heightened  by  the  constant  flashes  of  an  unceasing 
bombardment,  told  her  that  the  siege  of  Lucknow  had 
begun. 

Then  she  remembered  that  Mr.  Mayne  had  taken 
142 


A  Mohammedan  Fraternizes  with  a  Brahmin 

her  to  one  of  the  cellars  in  the  Residency  in  which  the 
women  and  children  were  secure  from  the  leaden  hail 
that  was  beating  on  the  walls.  She  had  a  vague  notion 
that  he  carried  a  gun  and  a  cartridge  belt,  and  a  new 
panic  seized  her  lest  the  Moloch  of  war  had  devoured 
her  only  relative,  for  her  father  had  been  killed  at  the 
battle  of  Alma,  and  her  mother's  death,  three  years 
later,  had  led  to  her  sailing  for  India  to  take  charge  of 
heT  v.ncle's  household. 

The  women  near  at  hand  were  too  sorrow-laden  to 
give  any  real  information.  They  only  knew  that 
every  man  within  the  Residency  walls,  even  the  one- 
armed,  one-legged,  decrepit  pensioners  who  had  lost 
limbs  or  health  in  the  service  of  the  Company,  were 
mustered  behind  the  frail  defenses. 

To  a  girl  of  her  temperament  inaction  was  the  least 
endurable  of  evils.  Now  that  the  shock  of  Malcolm's 
departure  had  passed  she  longed  to  seek  oblivion  in 
work,  while  existence  in  that  stifling  underground 
atmosphere,  with  its  dense  crowd  of  heartbroken 
women  and  complaining  children,  was  almost  in- 
tolerable. 

In  defiance  of  orders  —  of  which,  however,  she  was 
then  ignorant  —  she  went  to  the  ground  floor.  Pass- 
ing out  into  the  darkness  she  crossed  an  open  space  to 
the  hospital,  and  it  chanced  that  the  first  person  she 
encountered  was  Chumru,  Malcolm's  bearer. 

The  man's  grim  features  changed  their  habitual 
scowl  to  a  demoniac  grin  when  he  saw  her. 

"Ohe,  miss-sahib,"  he  cried,  "this  meeting  is  my 
143 


The  Red  Year 

good  fortune,  for  surely  you  can  tell  me  where  my 
sahib  is  ?  " 

Winifred  was  not  yet  well  versed  in  Hindustani, 
but  she  caught  some  of  the  words,  and  the  contortions 
of  Chumru's  expressive  countenance  were  familiar  to 
her,  as  she  had  laughed  many  a  time  at  Malcolm's 
recitals  of  his  ill-favored  servant's  undeserved  repute 
as  a  villain  of  parts. 

"Your  sahib  is  gone  to  Allahabad,"  she  managed  to 
say  before  the  thought  came  tardily  that  perhaps  it 
was  not  wise  to  make  known  the  Chief  Commissioner's 
behests  in  this  manner. 

"To  Illah-habad!  Shade  of  Mahomet,  how  can  he 
go  that  far  without  me?"  exclaimed  Chumru.  "Who 
will  cook  his  food  and  brush  his  clothes?  -Who  will 
see  to  it  that  he  is  not  robbed  on  the  road  by  every 
thief  that  ever  reared  a  chicken  or  milked  a  cow  ?  I 
feared  that  some  evil  thing  had  befallen  him,  but  this 
is  worse  than  aught  that  entered  my  head." 

All  this  was  lost  on  Winifred.  She  imagined  that 
the  native  was  bewailing  his  master's  certain  death  in 
striving  to  carry  out  a  desperate  mission,  whereas  he 
was  really  thinking  that  the  most  disturbing  element 
about  the  sahib's  journey  was  his  own  absence. 

Seeing  the  distress  in  her  face,  Chumru  was  sure 
that  she  sympathized  with  his  views. 

"Never  mind,  miss-sahib,"  said  he  confidentially, 
"I  will  slip  away  now,  steal  a  horse  and  follow  him." 

Without  another  word  he  hastened  out  of  the  build- 
ing and  left  her  wondering  what  he  meant.  She 

144 


A  Mohammedan  Fraternizes  with  a  Brahmin 

repeated  the  brief  phrases,  as  well  as  she  could  recall 
them,  to  a  Eurasian  whom  she  found  acting  as  a 
water-carrier. 

This  man  translated  Chumru's  parting  statement 
quite  accurately,  and  when  Mr.  Mayne  came  at  last 
from  the  Bailey  Guard  where  he  had  been  stationed 
until  relieved  after  nightfall,  he  horrified  her  by  telling 
her  the  truth  —  that  it  was  a  hundred  chances  to  one 
against  the  unfortunate  bearer's  escape  if  he  did  really 
endeavor  to  break  through  the  investing  lines. 

And  indeed  few  men  could  have  escaped  from  the 
entrenchment  that  night.  Any  one  who  climbed  to  the 
third  story  of  the  Residency  —  itself  the  highest  build- 
ing within  the  walls  and  standing  on  the  most  elevated 
site  —  would  soon  be  dispossessed  of  the  fantastic 
notion  that  any  corner  was  left  unguarded  by  the 
rebels.  A  few  houses  had  been  demolished  by  Law- 
rence's orders,  it  is  true,  but  his  deep  respect  for  native 
ideals  had  left  untouched  the  swarm  of  mosques  and 
temples  that  stood  between  the  Residency  and  the  river. 

"Spare  their  holy  places!"  he  said,  yet  Moham- 
medan and  Hindu  did  not  scruple  now  to  mask  guns 
in  the  sacred  enclosures  and  loop-hole  the  hallowed 
walls  for  musketry.  On  the  city  side,  narrow  lanes, 
lofty  houses  and  strongly-built  palaces  offered  secure 
protection  to  the  besiegers.  The  British  position  was 
girt  with  the  thousand  gleams  of  a  lightning  more 
harmful  than  that  devised  by  nature,  for  each  spurt  of 
flame  meant  that  field-piece  or  rifle  was  sending  some 
messenger  of  death  into  the  tiny  area  over  which 

145 


The  Red  Year 

floated  the  flag  of  England.  Within  this  outer  circle 
of  fire  was  a  lesser  one;  the  garrison  made  up  for  lack 
of  numbers  by  a  fixed  resolve  to  hold  each  post  until 
every  man  fell.  To  modern  ideas,  the  distance  between 
these  opposing  rings  was  absurdly  small.  As  the  siege 
progressed  besiegers  and  besieged  actually  came  to 
know  each  other  by  sight.  Even  from  the  first  they 
were  seldom  separated  by  more  than  the  width  of  an 
ordinary  street,  and  conversation  was  always  main- 
tained, the  threats  of  the  mutineers  being  countered 
by  the  scornful  defiance  of  the  defenders. 

Nevertheless  Chumru  prevailed  on  Captain  Weston 
to  allow  him  to  drop  to  the  ground  outside  the  Bailey 
Guard.  The  Police  Superintendent,  a  commander 
who  was  now  fighting  his  own  corps,  accepted  the 
bearer's  promise  that  if  he  were  not  killed  or  captured 
he  would  make  the  best  of  his  way  to  Allahabad,  and 
even  if  he  did  not  find  his  master,  tell  the  British  officer 
in  charge  there  of  the  plight  of  Lucknow. 

Chumru,  who  had  no  knowledge  of  warfare  beyond 
his  recent  experiences,  was  acquainted  with  the  golden 
rule  that  the  shorter  the  time  spent  as  an  involuntary 
target  the  less  chance  is  there  of  being  hit.  As  soon 
as  he  reached  the  earth  from  the  top  of  the  wall  he 
took  to  his  heels  and  ran  like  a  hare  in  the  direction 
of  some  houses  that  stood  near  the  Clock  Tower. 

He  was  fired  at,  of  course,  but  missed,  and  the 
sepoys  soon  ceased  their  efforts  to  put  a  bullet  through 
him  because  they  fancied  he  was  a  deserter. 

As  soon  as  they  saw  his  face  they  had  no  doubts 
146 


A  Mohammedan  Fraternizes  with  a  Brahmin 

whatever  on  that  score.  Indeed,  were  it  his  unhappy 
lot  to  fall  in  with  the  British  patrols  already  beginning 
to  feel  their  way  north  from  Bengal  along  the  Grand 
Trunk  Road  he  would  assuredly  have  been  hanged 
at  sight  on  his  mere  appearance. 

Chumru's  answers  to  the  questions  showered  on  him 
were  magnificently  untrue.  According  to  him  the 
Residency  was  already  a  ruin  and  its  precincts  a 
shambles.  The  accursed  Feringhis  might  hold  out  till 
the  morning,  but  he  doubted  it.  Allah  smite  them !  — 
that  was  why  he  chanced  being  shot  by  his  brethren 
rather  than  be  slain  by  mistake  next  day  when  the 
men  of  Oudh  took  vengeance  on  their  oppressors. 
He  could  not  get  away  earlier  because  he  was  a  prisoner, 
locked  up  by  the  huzoors,  forsooth,  for  a  trifling  matter 
of  a  few  rupees  left  behind  by  one  of  the  white  dogs 
who  fell  that  day  at  Chinhut. 

In  brief,  Chumru  abused  the  English  with  such  an 
air  that  he  was  regarded  by  the  rebels  as  quite  an 
acquisition.  They  had  not  learned,  as  yet,  that  it  was 
better  to  shoot  a  dozen  belated  friends  than  permit 
one  spy  to  win  his  way  through  their  lines. 

Watching  his  opportunity,  he  slipped  off  into  the 
bazaar.  Now  he  was  quite  safe,  being  one  among  two 
hundred  thousand.  But  time  was  passing;  he  wanted 
a  horse,  and  might  expect  to  find  the  canal  bridge 
closely  guarded. 

Having  a  true  Eastern  sense  of  humor  behind  that 
saturnine  visage  of  his,  he  hit  on  a  plan  of  surmounting 
both  difficulties  with  ease. 

147 


The  Red  Year 

Singling  out  the  first  well-mounted  and  half-intoxi- 
cated native  officer  he  met  —  though,  to  his  credit  be 
it  said,  he  chose  a  Brahmin  subadar  of  cavalry  —  he 
hailed  him  boldly. 

"Brother,"  said  he,  "I  would  have  speech  with 
thee." 

Now,  Chumru  took  his  life  in  his  hands  in  this 
matter.  For  one  wearing  the  livery  of  servitude  to 
address  a  high-caste  Brahmin  thus  was  incurring 
the  risk  of  being  sabered  then  and  there.  In  fact  the 
subadar  was  so  amazed  that  he  glared  stupidly  at  the 
Mohammedan  who  greeted  him  as  "brother,"  and  it 
may  be  that  those  fierce  eyes  looking  at  him  from 
different  angles  had  a  mesmeric  effect. 

"  Thou  ? "  he  spluttered,  reining  in  his  horse,  a 
hardy  country-bred,  good  for  fifty  miles  without  bait. 

"Even  I,"  said  Chumru.  "I  have  occupation,  but 
I  want  help.  One  will  suffice,  though  there  is  gold 
enough  for  many." 

"Gold,  sayest  thou?" 

"Ay,  gold  in  plenty.  The  dog  of  a  Feringhi  whom 
I  served  has  had  it  hidden  these  two  months  in  the 
thatch  of  his  house  near  the  Alumbagh.  To-day  he 
is  safely  bottled  up  there  — "  he  jerked  a  thumb  to- 
wards the  sullen  thunder  of  the  bombardment.  "I 
am  a  poor  man,  and  I  may  be  stopped  if  I  try  to  leave 
the  city.  Take  me  up  behind  thee,  brother,  and  give 
me  safe  passage  to  the  bungalow,  and  behold,  we  will 
share  treasure  of  a  lakh  or  more!" 

The  Brahmin's  brain  was  bemused  with  drink,  but 
148 


A  Mohammedan  Fraternizes  with  a  Brahmin  * 

it  took  in  two  obvious  elements  of  the  tale  at  once. 
Here  was  a  fortune  to  be  gained  by  merely  cutting  a 
throat  at  the  right  moment. 

"That  is  good  talking,"  said  he.  "Mount,  friend, 
and  leave  me  to  answer  questions  " 

Chumru  saw  that  he  had  gaged  his  man  rightly, 
and  the  evil  glint  in  the  subadar's  eyes  told  him  the 
unspoken  thought.  He  climbed  up  behind  the  high- 
peaked  saddle  and,  after  the  horse  had  showed  his 
resentment  of  a  double  burthen,  was  taken  through 
the  bazaar  as  rapidly  as  its  thronged  streets  permitted. 
Sure  enough,  the  canal  bridge  was  watched. 

"  Whither  go  ye  ? "  demanded  the  officer  in  charge. 

"To  bring  in  a  Feringhi  who  is  in  hiding,"  said  the 
Brahmin. 

"  Shall  I  send  a  few  men  with  you  ?  " 

"  Nay,  we  two  are  plenty  — "  this  with  a  laugh. 

"Quite  plenty,"  put  in  Chumru.  The  officer 
glanced  at  him  and  was  convinced.  Being  a  Mo- 
hammedan, he  took  Chumru 's  word  without  question, 
which  showed  the  exceeding  wisdom  of  Chumru  in 
selecting  a  Brahmin  for  the  sacrifice;  thus  was  he 
prepared  to  deal  with  either  party  in  an  unholy  alliance. 

They  jogged  in  silence  past  the  Alumbagh.  The 
Brahmin,  on  reflection,  decided  that  he  would  stab 
Chumru  before  the  hoard  was  disturbed  and  he  could 
then  devise  another  hiding-place  at  his  leisure.  Chumru 
had  long  ago  decided  to  send  the  Brahmin  to  the 
place  where  all  unbelievers  go,  at  the  first  suitable 
opportunity.  Hence  the  advantage  lay  with  him, 

149 


The  Red  Year 

because  he  held  a  strategic  position  and  could  choose 
his  own  time. 

Beyond  the  Alumbagh  there  were  few  houses,  and 
these  of  mean  description,  and  each  moment  the 
subadar's  mind  was  growing  clearer  under  the  prospect 
of  great  wealth  to  be  won  so  easily. 

"Where  is  this  bungalow,  friend?"  said  he  at  last, 
seeing  nothing  but  a  straight  road  in  front. 

"Patience,  brother.  'Tis  now  quite  near.  It  lies 
behind  that  tope  of  trees  yonder." 

The  other  half  turned  to  ascertain  in  which  direction 
his  guide  was  pointing. 

"  It  is  not  on  the  main  road,  then  ?  " 

"  No.  A  man  who  has  gold  worth  the  keeping  loves 
not  to  dwell  where  all  men  pass." 

A  little  farther,  and  Chumru  announced: 

"We  turn  off  here." 

It  was  dark.  He  thought  he  had  hit  upon  a  by-way, 
but  no  sooner  did  the  horse  quit  the  shadow  of  the 
trees  by  the  roadside  than  he  saw  that  he  had  been 
misled  by  the  wheel-tracks  of  a  ryot's  cart.  The 
Brahmin  sniffed  suspiciously. 

"  Is  there  no  better  way  than  this  ? "  he  cried,  when 
his  charger  nearly  stumbled  into  a  deep  ditch. 

"One  only,  but  you  may  deem  it  too  far,"  was  the 
quiet  answer,  and  Chumru,  placing  his  left  hand  on 
the  Brahmin's  mouth,  plunged  a  long,  thin  knife  up 
to  the  hilt  between  his  ribs. 


150 


CHAPTER  IX 

A   LONG   CHASE 

IT  was  not  Lawrence's  order  but  Malcolm's  own 
suggestion  that  led  to  the  desperate  task  entrusted  to 
the  young  aide  by  the  Chief.  While  those  few  heroic 
volunteer  horsemen  drove  back  the  enemy's  cavalry 
and  held  the  bridge  over  the  Kokrail  until  the  beaten 
army  made  good  its  retreat,  Sir  Henry  halted  by  the 
roadside  and  watched  the  passing  of  his  exhausted 
men.  He  had  the  aspect  of  one  who  hoped  that  some 
stray  bullet  would  end  the  torment  of  life.  In  that 
grief-stricken  hour  his  indomitable  spirit  seemed  to 
falter.  Ere  night  he  was  the  Lawrence  of  old,  but 
the  magnitude  of  the  calamity  that  had  befallen  him 
was  crushing  and  he  winced  beneath  it. 

Out  of  three  hundred  and  fifty  white  soldiers  in  the 
column  he  had  lost  one  hundred  and  nineteen.  Every 
gun  served  by  natives  was  captured  by  the  enemy. 
Worst  of  all,  the  moral  effect  of  such  a  defeat  out- 
weighed a  dozen  victories.  It  not  only  brought  about 
the  instant  beginnings  of  the  siege,  but  its  proportions 
were  grossly  exaggerated  in  the  public  eye.  For  the 
first  time  in  many  a  year  the  white  soldiers  had  fled 
before  a  strictly  Indian  force.  They  were  outnum- 

151 


The  Red  Year 

bered,  which  was  nothing  new  in  the  history  of  the 
country,  but  it  must  be  confessed  they  were  out- 
generaled, too.  Lawrence,  never  a  believer  in  Gub- 
bins's  forward  policy,  showed  unwonted  hesitancy  even 
during  the  march  to  Chinhut:  he  halted,  advanced 
and  counter-marched  the  troops  in  a  way  that  was 
foreign  to  a  man  of  his  decisive  character.  Where  he 
was  unaccountably  timid  the  enemy  were  unusually 
bold,  and  the  outcome  was  disaster. 

Yet  in  this  moment  of  bitterest  adversity  he  dis- 
played that  sympathy  for  the  sufferings  of  others  that 
won  him  the  esteem  of  all  who  came  in  contact  with 
him. 

By  some  extraordinary  blunder  of  the  commissariat 
the  32d  had  set  forth  that  morning  without  breaking 
their  fast.  Now,  after  a  weary  march  and  a  protracted 
fight  in  the  burning  sun,  some  of  the  men  deliberately 
lay  down  to  die. 

"We  can  go  no  farther,"  they  said.  "We  may  as 
well  meet  death  here  as  a  few  yards  away.  And, 
when  the  sepoys  overtake  us,  we  shall  at  least  have 
breath  enough  left  to  die  fighting." 

Lawrence,  when  finally  he  turned  his  horse's  head 
toward  Lucknow,  came  upon  such  a  group.  He  shook 
his  feet  free  of  the  stirrups. 

"Now,  my  lads,"  he  said  quietly,  "you  have  no 
cause  to  despair.  Catch  hold  of  the  leathers,  two  of 
you,  and  the  horse  will  help  you  along.  Mr.  Malcolm, 
you  can  assist  in  the  same  way.  Another  mile  will 
bring  us  to  the  city." 

152 


A  Long  Chase 

One  of  the  men,  finding  it  in  his  heart  to  pity  his 
haggard-faced  general,  thought  to  console  him  by 
saying: 

"We'll  try,  if  it's  on'y  to  please  you,  your  honor, 
but  it's  all  up  with  us,  I'm  afraid.  If  the  end  doesn't 
come  to-day  it  will  surely  be  with  us  to-morrow." 

"  Why  do  you  think  that  ?  "  asked  Lawrence.  "  We 
must  hold  the  Residency  until  the  last  man  falls. 
What  else  can  we  do  ?  " 

"I  know  that,  your  honor,  but  we  haven't  got  the 
ghost  of  a  chance.  They're  a  hundred  to  one,  and  as 
well  armed  as  we  are.  It  'ud  be  a  different  thing  if 
help  could  come,  but  it  can't.  If  what  people  are 
saying  is  true,  sir,  the  nearest  red-coats  are  at  Allaha- 
bad, an'  p'raps  they're  hard  pressed,  too." 

"That  is  not  the  way  to  look  at  a  difficulty.  In 
war  it  is  the  unexpected  that  happens.  Keep  your 
spirits  up  and  you  may  live  to  tell  your  grandchildren 
how  you  fought  the  rebels  at  Lucknow.  I  want  you 
and  every  man  in  the  ranks  to  know  that  my  motto  is 
'No  Surrender.'  You  have  heard  what  happened  at 
Cawnpore.  Here,  in  Lucknow,  despite  to-day's  disas- 
ter, we  shall  fight  to  a  finish." 

An  English  battery  came  thundering  down  the  road 
to  take  up  a  fresh  position  and  assist  in  covering  the 
retreat.  The  guns  unlimbered  near  a  well. 

"There!"  said  Lawrence,  "you  see  how  my  words 
have  come  true.  A  minute  ago  you  were  ready  to 
fall  before  the  first  sowar  who  lifted  his  saber  over 
your  head.  Go  now  and  help  by  drawing  water  for 

153 


The  Red  Year 

the  gunners  and  yourselves.  Then  you  can  ride  back 
on  the  carriages  when  they  limber  up." 

Malcolm,  to  whom  the  soldier's  words  brought  in- 
spiration, spurred  Nejdi  alongside  his  Chief. 

"Will  you  permit  me  to  ride  to  Allahabad,  sir,  and 
tell  General  Neill  how  matters  stand  here  ? "  he  said. 

Lawrence  looked  at  him  as  though  the  request  were 
so  fantastic  that  he  had  not  fully  grasped  its  meaning. 

"  To  Allahabad  ?  "  he  repeated,  turning  in  the  saddle 
to  watch  the  effect  of  the  first  shot  fired  by  the  battery. 

"Yes,  sir,"  cried  Malcolm,  eagerly.  "I  know  the 
odds  are  against  me,  but  Hodson  rode  as  far  through 
the  enemy's  country  only  six  weeks  ago,  and  I  did 
something  of  the  kind,  though  not  so  successfully, 
when  I  went  from  Meerut  to  Agra  and  from  Agra  to 
Cawnpore." 

"You  had  an  escort,  and  I  can  spare  not  a  man." 

"I  will  go  alone,  sir." 

"I  would  gladly  avail  myself  of  your  offer,  but  the 
Residency  will  be  invested  in  less  than  an  hour." 

"Let  me  go  now,  sir.  I  am  well  mounted.  In  the 
confusion  I  may  be  able  to  reach  the  open  country 
without  being  noticed." 

"Go,  then,  in  God's  name,  and  may  your  errand 
prosper,  for  you  have  many  precious  lives  in  your 
keeping." 

Lawrence  held  out  his  hand,  and  Malcolm  clasped  it. 

"Tell  Neill,"  said  the  Chief  Commissioner  in  a  low 
tone  of  intense  significance,  "that  we  can  hold  out  a 
fortnight,  a  month  perhaps,  or  even  a  few  days  longer 

154 


A  Long  Chase 

if  buoyed  up  with  hope.  That  is  all.  If  you  succeed, 
I  shall  not  forget  your  services.  The  Viceroy  has 
given  me  plenary  powers,  and  I  shall  place  your  name 
in  orders  to-night,  Captain  Malcolm." 

He  kept  his  promise.  When  Lucknow  was  evacu- 
ated after  the  Second  Relief,  the  official  gazettes  re- 
corded that  Lieutenant  Frank  Malcolm  of  the  3d 
Cavalry  had  been  promoted  to  a  captaincy,  super- 
numerary on  the  staff,  for  gallantry  on  the  field  on 
June  30,  while  a  special  minute  provided  that  he 
should  attain  the  rank  of  major  if  he  reached  Allaha- 
bad on  or  before  July  4. 

From  the  point  on  the  road  to  Chinhut  where  Mal- 
colm bade  his  Chief  farewell,  he  could  see  the  tower  of 
the  Residency,  gray  among  the  white  domes  and 
minarets  that  lined  the  south  bank  of  the  Goomtee. 
He  had  no  illusions  now  as  to  the  course  the  mutineers 
would  follow.  Native  rumors  had  brought  the  news  of 
the  massacre  at  Cawnpore,  though  the  ghastly  tragedy 
of  the  Well  was  yet  to  come.  He  knew  that  this  ele- 
gant city,  resplendent  and  glorious  in  the  sheen  of  the 
setting  sun,  would  soon  be  a  living  hell.  A  fearsome 
struggle  would  surge  around  that  tower  where  the 
British  flag  was  flying.  A  few  hundreds  of  Europeans 
would  strive  to  keep  at  bay  tens  of  thousands  of  eager 
rebels.  Would  they  succeed  ?  Pray  Heaven  for  that 
while  Winifred  lived! 

And  in  all  human  probability  their  fate  rested  with 
him.  If  he  were  able  to  stir  the  British  authorities  in 
the  south  to  almost  superhuman  efforts,  a  relieving 

155 


The  Red  Year 

force  might  arrive  before  the  end  of  July.  It  was  a 
great  undertaking  he  had  set  himself.  Yet  he  would 
have  attempted  it  for  Winifred's  sake  alone,  and  the 
thought  of  her  anguish,  when  she  should  hear  that  he 
was  gone,  gave  him  a  pang  that  was  not  solaced  by  the 
dearest  honor  a  soldier  can  attain  —  promotion  on 
the  field. 

It  was  out  of  the  question  that  he  should  return  to 
the  Residency  before  he  began  his  self-imposed  mission. 
Already  the  enemy's  cavalry  were  swooping  along 
both  flanks  of  the  routed  troops.  In  a  few  minutes 
the  only  available  road,  which  crossed  the  Goomtee 
by  a  bridge  of  boats  and  led  through  the  suburbs  by 
way  of  the  Dilkusha,  would  be  closed.  As  it  was  he 
had  to  press  Nejdi  into  a  fast  gallop  before  he  could 
clear  the  left  wing  of  the  advancing  army.  Then, 
easing  the  pace  a  little,  he  swung  off  into  a  by-way, 
and  ere  long  was  cantering  down  the  quiet  road  that 
led  to  Rai  Bareilly  and  thence  to  Allahabad. 

At  seven  o'clock  he  was  ten  miles  from  Lucknow, 
at  eight,  nearly  twenty.  The  quick-falling  shadows 
warned  him  that  if  he  would  procure  food  for  Nejdi 
and  himself  he  must  seize  the  next  opportunity  that 
presented  itself,  while  a  rest  of  some  sort  was  abso- 
lutely necessary  if  he  meant  to  spare  his  gallant  Arab 
for  the  trial  of  endurance  that  still  lay  ahead. 

Though  he  had  never  before  traveled  that  road  he 
was  acquainted  with  its  main  features.  Thirty  miles 
from  his  present  position  was  the  small  town  of  Rai 
Bareilly.  Fifty  miles  to  the  southeast  was  Partab- 

156 


A  Long  Chase 

garh.  Fifty  miles  due  south  of  Partabgarh  lay  Alla- 
habad. The  scheme  roughly  outlined  in  his  mind  was, 
in  the  first  place,  to  buy,  borrow,  or  steal  a  native  pony 
which  would  carry  him  to  the  outskirts  of  Rai  Bareilly 
before  dawn.  Then  remounting  Nejdi  he  would 
either  ride  rapidly  through  the  town,  or  make  a  detour, 
whichever  method  seemed  preferable  after  inquiry 
from  such  peaceful  natives  as  he  met  on  the  road. 
Four  hours  beyond  Rai  Bareilly  he  would  leave  the 
main  road,  strike  due  south  for  the  Ganges,  and  follow 
the  left  bank  of  the  river  until  he  was  opposite  Alla- 
habad. He  refused  to  ask  himself  what  he  would  do 
if  Allahabad  were  in  the  hands  of  the  rebels. 

"I  shall  tackle  that  difficulty  about  this  hour  to- 
morrow," he  communed,  with  a  laugh  at  his  own 
expense.  "Just  now,  when  a  hundred  miles  of  un- 
known territory  face  me,  I  have  enough  to  contend  with. 
So,  steady  is  the  word!  good  horse!  Ccesarem  invehis 
et  fortunas  ejus!" 

Thus  far  the  wayfarers  encountered  during  his 
journey  had  treated  him  civilly.  The  ryots,  peasant 
proprietors  of  the  soil,  drew  their  rough  carts  aside 
and  salaamed  as  he  passed.  These  men  knew  little 
or  nothing,  as  yet,  of  the  great  events  that  were  taking 
place  on  the  south  and  west  of  the  Ganges.  A  few 
educated  bunniahs  and  zemindars,1  who  doubtless  had 
heard  of  wild  doings  in  the  cities,  glanced  at  him 
curiously,  and  would  have  asked  for  news  if  he  had 
not  invariably  ridden  by  at  a  rapid  pace. 

1  Bunniah,  grain  dealer;  zemindar,  landowner. 
157 


The  Red  Year 

As  it  happened,  the  route  he  followed  was  far  re- 
moved from  the  track  of  murder  and  rapine  that 
marked  the  early  progress  of  the  Mutiny,  and  the 
mere  sight  of  a  British  Officer,  moving  on  with  such 
speed  and  confidence,  must  have  set  these  worthy  folk 
awondering.  Between  Rai  Bareilly  a.  d  the  Grand 
Trunk  Road  stood  the  wide  barrier  of  the  sacred  river, 
while  the  town  itself  must  not  be  confused  with  Ba- 
reilly —  situated  nearly  a  hundred  miles  north  of 
Lucknow  —  which  became  notorious  as  the  head- 
quarters of  Khan  Bahadur  Khan,  a  pensioner  of  the 
British  Government,  and  a  ruffian  second  only  to 
Nana  Sahib  in  merciless  cruelty. 

All  unknown  to  Malcolm,  and  indeed  little  recog- 
nized as  yet  in  India  save  by  a  few  district  officials, 
there  was  a  man  in  Rai  Bareilly  that  night  who  was 
destined  to  test  the  chivalry  of  Britain  on  many  a 
hard-fought  field.  Ahmed  Ullah,  famous  in  history 
as  the  Moulvie  of  Fyzabad,  had  crossed  the  young 
officer's  path  once  already.  When  Malcolm  took  his 
untrained  charger  for  the  first  wild  gallop  out  of  Meerut 
—  the  ride  that  ended  ignominiously  in  the  moat  of 
the  King's  of  Delhi  hunting  lodge  —  he  nearly  rode 
over  a  Mohammedan  priest,  as  he  tore  along  the  Grand 
Trunk  Road  some  five  miles  south  of  the  station. 

It  would  have  been  well  for  India  if  Nejdi's  hoofs 
had  then  and  there  struck  the  breath  out  of  that  ascetic 
frame.  Of  all  the  firebrands  raised  by  the  Mutiny, 
the  Moulvie  of  Fyzabad  was  the  fiercest  and  most 
dangerous.  Early  in  the  year  he  was  imprisoned  for 

158 


A  Long  Chase 

preaching  sedition.  Unhappily  he  was  liberated  too 
soon,  and,  his  fanaticism  only  inflamed  the  more  by 
punishment,  he  went  to  the  Punjab  and  sowed  dis- 
affection far  and  wide  by  his  burning  zeal  for  the 
spread  of  Islam.  By  chance  he  returned  to  Fyzabad 
before  the  outbreak  at  Meerut.  The  feeble  loyalty  of 
the  native  regiments  at  Lucknow  sufficed  to  keep  all 
the  borderland  of  Nepaul  quiet  for  nearly  two  months. 
But  the  reports  brought  by  his  disciples  warned  the 
moulvie  that  the  true  believer's  day  of  triumph  was 
approaching.  Moreover,  the  Begum  of  Oudh,  one  of 
three  women  who  were  worth  as  many  army  corps  to 
the  mutineers,  was  waiting  for  him  at  Rai  Bareilly,  a 
placid  eddy  in  the  backwash  of  the  torrents  sweeping 
through  Upper  India,  and  Ahmed  Ullah  had  left 
Fyzabad  on  the  evening  of  the  29th  to  keep  his  tryst. 

It  was,  therefore,  a  lively  brood  of  scorpions  that 
Malcolm  proposed  to  disturb  when  he  dismounted 
from  a  wretched  tat  he  had  purchased  at  his  first  halt, 
and  fed  and  watered  Nejdi  again,  just  as  a  glimmer  of 
dawn  appeared  in  the  east.  According  to  his  calcu- 
lations he  was  about  a  mile  from  Rai  Bareilly.  The 
hour  was  the  quietest  and  coolest  of  the  hot  Indian 
night.  Some  pattering  drops  of  rain  and  the  appear- 
ance of  heavy  clouds  in  the  southwest  gave  premoni- 
tions of  a  fresh  outburst  of  the  monsoon.  He  was 
glad  of  it.  Rain  would  freshen  himself  and  his  horse. 
It  made  the  ground  soft  and  would  retard  his  speed 
once  he  quitted  the  high  road,  but  these  drawbacks 
were  more  than  balanced  by  the  absence  of  the  terrific 

159 


The  Red  Year 

heat  of  the  previous  day.  He  unstrapped  his  cloak 
and  flung  it  loosely  over  his  shoulders.  Then  he 
waited,  until  the  growing  light  brought  forth  the  un- 
tiring tillers  of  the  fields,  and  he  was  able  to  glean 
some  sort  of  information  as  to  the  position  of  affairs  in 
the  town.  If  the  place  were  occupied  by  a  prowling 
gang  of  rebels  he  might  secure  a  guide  by  payment 
and  avoid  its  narrow  streets  altogether.  At  any  rate, 
it  would  be  a  foolish  thing  to  dash  through  blindly 
and  trust  to  luck.  The  issues  at  stake  were  too  im- 
portant for  that  sort  of  imprudent  valor.  His  object 
was  to  reach  Allahabad  that  night  —  not  to  hew  his 
way  through  opposing  hordes  and  risk  being  cut  down 
in  the  process. 

The  lowing  of  cattle  and  the  soft  stumbling  tread  of 
many  unshod  feet  told  him  that  some  one  was  approach- 
ing. A  herd  of  buffaloes  loomed  out  of  the  half 
light.  Their  driver,  an  old  man,  was  quite  willing  to 
talk. 

"There  are  no  sahib-log  in  the  town,"  he  said,  for 
Malcolm  deemed  it  advisable  to  begin  by  a  question 
on  that  score.  "The  collector-sahib  had  a  camp  here 
three  weeks  ago,  but  he  went  away,  and  that  was  a 
misfortune,  because  the  budmashes  from  Fyzabad 
came,  and  honest  people  were  sore  pressed." 

"From  Fyzabad,  say'st  thou?  They  must  be 
cleared  out.  Where  are  they?" 

"You  are  too  late,  huzoor.  They  went  to  Cawn- 
pore,  I  have  heard.  Men  talk  of  much  dacoity  in  that 
district.  Is  that  true,  sahib?" 

160 


"Yes,  but  fear  not;  it  will  be  suppressed.  I  am 
going  to  Allahabad.  Is  this  the  best  road?" 

"I  have  never  been  so  far,  sahib,  but  it  lies  that 
way." 

"  Is  the  bazaar  quiet  now  ?  " 

"I  have  seen  none  save  our  own  people  these  two 
days,  yet  it  was  said  in  the  bazaar  last  night  that  a 
Begum  tarried  at  the  rest-house." 

"A  Begum.     What  Begum?" 

"  I  know  not  her  name,  huzoor,  but  she  is  one  of  the 
daughters  of  the  King  of  Oudh." 

Malcolm  was  relieved  to  hear  this.  The  wild  notion 
had  seized  him  that  the  Princess  Roshinara,  a  stormy 
petrel  of  political  affairs  just  then,  might  have  drifted 
to  Rai  Bareilly  by  some  evil  chance. 

"  You  see  this  pony  ?  "  he  said.  "  Take  him.  He  is 
yours.  I  have  no  further  use  for  him.  Are  you  sure 
that  there  are  none  to  dispute  my  passage  through  the 
town?" 

The  old  peasant  was  so  taken  aback  by  the  gift  that 
he  could  scarce  speak  intelligibly,  but  he  assured  the 
Presence  that  at  such  an  hour  none  would  interfere 
with  him. 

Malcolm  decided  to  risk  it.  He  mounted  and  rode 
forward  at  a  sharp  trot.  Of  course  he  had  not  been 
able  to  adopt  any  kind  of  disguise.  While  doing  duty 
at  the  Residency  he  had  thrown  aside  the  turban  reft 
from  Abdul  Huq  and  he  now  wore  the  peaked  shako, 
with  white  puggaree,  affected  by  junior  staff  officers  at 
that  period.  His  long  military  cloak,  steel  scabbard, 

161 


The  Red  Year 

sabertache  and  Wellington  boots,  proclaimed  his 
profession,  while  his  blue  riding-coat  and  cross-belts 
were  visible  in  front,  as  he  meant  to  have  his  arms 
free  in  case  the  necessity  arose  to  use  sword  or  pistol. 

And  he  rode  thus  into  Rai  Bareilly,  watchful,  deter- 
mined, ready  for  any  emergency.  So  boldly  did  he 
advance  that  he  darted  past  half  a  dozen  men  whose 
special  duty  it  was  to  stop  and  question  all  travelers. 
They  were  stationed  on  the  flat  roofs  of  two  houses, 
one  on  each  side  of  the  way,  and  a  rope  was  stretched 
across  the  road  in  readiness  to  drop  and  hinder  the 
progress  of  any  one  who  did  not  halt  when  summoned. 
It  was  a  simple  device.  It  had  not  been  seen  by  the 
man  who  drove  the  buffaloes,  and  by  reason  of  Mal- 
colm's choice  of  the  turf  by  the  side  of  the  road  as  the 
best  place  for  Nejdi,  it  chanced  to  dangle  high  enough 
to  permit  their  passing  beneath. 

The  sentries,  though  caught  napping,  tried  to  make 
amends  for  their  carelessness.  In  the  growing  light 
one  of  them  saw  Malcolm's  accouterments  and  he 
yelled  loudly: 

"  Ohe,  bhai,  look  out  for  the  Feringhi ! " 

Frank,  unfortunately,  had  not  noticed  the  rope. 
But  he  heard  the  cry  and  understood  that  the  "  brother  " 
to  whom  it  was  addressed  would  probably  be  discov- 
ered at  the  end  of  the  short  street.  He  shook  Nejdi 
into  a  canter,  drew  his  sword,  and  looked  keenly 
ahead  for  the  first  sign  of  those  who  would  bar  his  path. 

Dawn  was  peeping  grayly  over  the  horizon,  and 
Ahmed  Ullah,  moulvie  and  interpreter  of  the  Koran, 

162 


A  Long  Chase 

standing  in  an  open  courtyard,  was  engaged  in  the 
third  of  the  day's  prayers,  of  which  the  first  was  in- 
toned soon  after  sunset  the  previous  evening.  He 
was  going  through  the  Reka  with  military  precision, 
and  as  luck  would  have  it,  the  Kibleh,  or  direction 
of  Mecca,  brought  his  fierce  gaze  to  the  road  along 
which  Malcolm  was  galloping.  Never  did  priest 
become  warrior  more  speedily  than  Ahmed  Ullah 
when  that  warning  shout  rang  out,  and  he  discovered 
that  a  British  officer  was  riding  at  top  speed  through 
the  quiet  bazaar.  Assuming  that  this  unexpected 
apparition  betokened  the  arrival  of  a  punitive  detach- 
ment, he  uttered  a  loud  cry,  leaped  to  the  gates  of  the 
courtyard  and  closed  them. 

Malcolm,  of  course,  saw  him  and  regarded  his 
action  as  that  of  a  frightened  man,  who  would  be  only 
too  glad  when  he  could  resume  his  devotions  in  peace. 
Ahmed  Ullah,  soon  to  become  a  claimant  of  sovereign 
power  as  "King  of  Hindustan,"  was  not  a  likely  person 
to  let  a  prize  slip  through  his  fingers  thus  easily.  Keep- 
ing up  an  ululating  clamor  of  commands,  he  ran  to  the 
roof  of  the  dwelling,  snatched  up  a  musket  and  took 
steady  aim.  By  this  time  Malcolm  was  beyond  the 
gate  and  thought  himself  safe.  Then  he  saw  a  rope 
drawn  breast-high  across  the  narrow  street,  and  ges- 
ticulating natives,  variously  armed,  leaning  over  the 
parapets  on  either  hand.  He  had  to  decide  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye  whether  to  go  on  or  turn  back. 
Probably  his  retreat  would  be  cut  off  by  some  similar 
device,  so  the  bolder  expedient  of  an  advance  offered 

163 


the  better  chance.  An  incomparable  horseman, 
mounted  on  an  absolutely  trustworthy  horse,  he  lay 
well  forward  on  Nejdi's  neck,  resolving  to  try  and 
pick  up  the  slack  of  the  rope  on  his  sword  and  lift  it 
out  of  the  way.  To  endeavor  to  cut  through  such  an 
obstacle  would  undoubtedly  have  brought  about  a 
disaster.  It  would  yield,  and  the  keenest  blade  might 
fail  to  sever  it  completely,  while  any  slackening  of  pace 
would  enable  the  hostile  guard  to  shoot  him  at  point- 
blank  range. 

These  considerations  passed  through  his  mind  while 
Nejdi  was  covering  some  fifty  yards.  To  disconcert 
the  enemy,  who  were  not  sepoys  and  whose  guns  were 
mostly  antiquated  weapons  of  the  match-lock  type,  he 
pulled  out  a  revolver  and  fired  twice.  Then  he  leaned 
forward,  with  right  arm  thrown  well  in  front  and 
the  point  of  his  sword  three  feet  beyond  Nejdi's  head. 
At  that  instant,  when  Frank  was  unconsciously  offering 
a  bad  target,  the  moulvie  fired.  The  bullet  plowed 
through  the  Englishman's  right  forearm,  struck  the 
hilt  of  the  sword  and  knocked  the  weapon  out  of  his 
hand.  Exactly  what  happened  next  he  never  knew. 
From  the  nature  of  his  own  bruises  afterwards  and  the 
manner  in  which  he  was  jerked  backwards  from  the 
saddle,  he  believed  that  the  rope  missed  Nejdi  alto- 
gether, but  caught  him  by  the  left  shoulder.  The 
height  of  a  horse  extended  at  the  gallop  is  surprisingly 
low  as  compared  with  the  height  of  the  same  animal 
standing  or  walking.  There  was  even  a  remote  pos- 
sibility that  the  rope  would  strike  the  Arab's  forehead 

164 


A  Long  Chase 

and  bound  clear  of  his  rider.  But  that  was  not  to  be. 
Here  was  Frank  hurled  to  the  roadway,  and  striving 
madly  to  resist  the  treble  shock  of  his  wound,  of  the 
blow  dealt  by  the  rope,  and  of  the  fall,  while  Nejdi  was 
tearing  away  through  Rai  Bareilly  as  though  all  the 
djinns  of  his  native  desert  were  pursuing  him. 

Though  Malcolm's  torn  arm  was  bleeding  copiously, 
and  he  was  stunned  by  being  thrown  so  violently  flat 
on  his  back,  no  bones  were  broken.  His  rage  at  the 
trick  fate  had  played  him,  the  overwhelming  bitterness 
of  another  and  most  lamentable  failure,  enabled  him 
to  struggle  to  his  feet  and  empty  at  his  assailants  the 
remaining  chambers  of  the  revolver  which  was  still 
tightly  clutched  in  his  left  hand.  He  missed,  luckily, 
or  they  would  have  butchered  him  forthwith.  In 
another  minute  he  was  standing  before  Moulvie  Ahmed 
Ullah,  and  that  earnest  advocate  of  militant  Islam  was 
plying  him  with  mocking  questions. 

"Whither  so  fast,  Feringhi?  Dost  thou  run  from 
death,  or  ride  to  seek  it  ?  Mayhap  thou  comest  from 
Lucknow.  If  so,  what  news?  And  where  are  the 
papers  thou  art  carrying?" 

Frank's  strength  was  failing  him.  To  the  weakness 
resulting  from  loss  of  blood  was  added  the  knowledge 
that  this  time  he  was  trapped  without  hope  of  escape. 
The  magnificent  display  of  self-command  entailed  by 
the  effort  to  rise  and  face  his  foes  in  a  last  defiance 
could  not  endure  much  longer.  He  knew  it  was 
near  the  end  when  he  had  difficulty  in  finding  the 
necessary  words  in  Urdu.  But  he  spoke,  slowly 

165 


The  Red  Year 

and  firmly,  compelling  his  unwilling  brain  to  form 
the  sentences. 

"I  have  no  papers,  and  if  I  had,  who  are  you  that 
demand  them?"  he  said.  "I  am  an  officer  of  the 
Company,  and  I  call  on  all  honest  and  loyal  men  to 
help  me  in  my  duty.  I  promise  —  to  those  who  assist 
me  to  reach  Allahabad  —  that  they  will  be  —  pardoned 
for  any  past  offenses  —  and  well  rewarded.  ..." 

The  room  swam  around  him  and  the  grim-visaged 
moullah  became  a  grotesque  being,  with  dragon's  eyes 
and  a  turban  like  a  cloud.  Yet  he  kept  on,  hoping 
against  imminent  death  itself  that  his  words  would 
reach  some  willing  ear. 

"Any  man  —  who  tells  General  Neill-sahib  —  at 
Allahabad  —  that  help  is  wanted  —  at  Lucknow  — 
will  be  made  rich.  .  .  .  Help  —  at  Lucknow  —  imme- 
diately. ...  I,  Malcolm-sahib  —  of  the  3d  Cavalry 
—  say " 

He  collapsed  in  the  grasp  of  the  men  who  were 
holding  him. 

"Thou  has  said  enough,  dog  of  a  Nazarene.  Take 
him  without  and  hang  him,"  growled  Ahmed  Ullah. 

"Nay,"  cried  a  woman's  voice  from  behind  a  straw 
portiere  that  closed  the  arched  veranda  of  the  house. 
"Thou  art  too  ready  with  thy  sentences,  moulvie. 
Rather  let  us  bind  his  wounds  and  give  him  food  and 
drink.  Then  he  will  recover,  and  tell  us  what  we  want 
to  know." 

"He  hath  told  us  already,  Princess,"  said  the  other, 
his  harsh  accents  sounding  more  like  the  snarl  of  a 

166 


A  Long  Chase 

wolf  than  a  human  voice.  "  He  comes  from  Lucknow 
and  he  seeks  succor  from  Allahabad.  That  means  — " 

"It  means  that  he  can  be  hanged  as  easily  at  even- 
tide as  at  daybreak,  and  we  shall  surely  learn  the 
truth,  as  such  men  do  not  breathe  lies." 

"He  will  not  speak,  Princess." 

"Leave  that  to  me.  If  I  fail,  I  hand  him  over  to 
thee  forthwith.  Let  him  be  brought  within  and 
tended,  and  let  some  ride  after  his  horse,  as  there  may 
be  letters  in  the  wallets.  I  have  spoken,  Ahmed 
Ullah.  See  that  I  am  obeyed." 

The  moulvie  said  no  word.  He  went  back  to  his 
praying  mat  and  bent  again  toward  the  west,  where 
the  Holy  Kaaba  enshrines  the  ruby  sent  down  from 
heaven.  But  though  his  lips  muttered  the  rubric  of 
the  Koran,  his  heart  whispered  other  things,  and  chief 
among  them  was  the  vow  that  ere  many  days  be  passed 
he  would  so  contrive  affairs  that  no  woman's  whim 
should  thwart  his  judgment. 

So  the  clouded  day  broke  sullenly,  with  gusts  of 
warm  rain  and  red  gleams  of  a  sun  striving  to  dis- 
perse the  mists.  And  the  earth  soaked  and  steamed 
and  threw  off  fever-laden  vapors  as  she  nursed  the 
grain  to  life  and  bade  the  arid  plain  clothe  itself  in 
summer  greenery.  It  was  a  bad  day  to  lie  wounded 
and  ill  and  a  prisoner,  and  despite  the  cooling  showers, 
it  was  a  hot  day  to  ride  far  and  fast. 

Hence  it  was  long  past  noon  when  a  servant  an- 
nounced to  the  Begum  that  the  sahib  —  for  thus  the 
man  described  Malcolm  until  sharply  admonished  to 

167 


The  Red  Year 

learn  the  new  order  of  speech  —  the  Nazarene,  then, 
was  somewhat  recovered  from  his  faintness.  And 
about  the  same  hour,  when  a  subadar  of  the  7th  Cav- 
alry clattered  into  Rai  Bareilly  and  was  told  that  a 
certain  Feringhi  whom  he  sought  was  safely  laid  by 
the  heels  there,  so  sultry  was  the  atmosphere  that  he 
seemed  to  be  quite  glad  of  the  news. 

"Shabash!"  he  criedj  as  he  dismounted.  "May  I 
never  drink  at  the  White  Pond  of  the  Prophet  if  that 
be  not  good  hearing!  So  you  have  caught  him,  breth- 
ren! Wao,  wao!  you  have  done  a  great  thing.  He  is 
not  killed  ? — No  ?  That  is  well,  for  he  is  sorely  wanted 
at  Lucknow.  Tie  him  tightly,  though.  He  is  a  fox 
in  guile,  and  might  give  me  the  slip  again.  May  his 
bones  bleach  in  an  infidel's  grave!  —  I  have  hunted 
him  fifty  miles,  yet  scarce  a  man  I  met  had  seen  him ! " 


168 


CHAPTER  X 

WHEREIN   FATE   PLATS  TRICKS   WITH   MALCOLM 

IF  it  is  difficult  for  the  present  generation  to  under- 
stand the  manners  and  ways  of  its  immediate  forbears, 
how  much  more  difficult  to  ask  it  to  appreciate  the 
extraordinary  features  of  the  siege  of  Lucknow!  Let 
the  reader  who  knows  London  imagine  some  parish 
in  the  heart  of  the  city  barricading  itself  behind  a  mud 
wall  against  its  neighbors:  let  him  garrison  this  flimsy 
fortress  with  sixteen  hundred  and  ninety-two  com- 
batants, of  whom  a  large  number  were  men  of  an 
inferior  race  and  of  doubtful  loyalty  to  those  for  whom 
they  were  fighting,  while  scores  of  the  Europeans  were 
infirm  pensioners :  let  him  cram  the  rest  of  the  available 
shelter  with  women  and  children:  let  him  picture  the 
network  of  narrow  streets,  tall  houses  and  a  few  open 
spaces  —  often  separated  from  the  enemy  only  by  the 
width  of  a  lane  —  as  being  subjected  to  interminable 
bombardment  at  point-blank  range,  and  he  will  have  a 
clear  notion  of  some,  at  least,  of  the  conditions  which 
obtained  in  Lucknow  when  that  gloomy  July  1st  carried 
on  the  murderous  work  begun  on  the  previous  evening. 

The  Residency  itself  was  the  only  strong  building  in 
an  enclosure  seven  hundred  yards  long  and  four  hun- 

169 


The  Red  Year 

dred  yards  wide,  though  by  no  means  so  large  in  area 
as  these  figures  suggest.  The  whole  position  was 
surrounded  by  an  adobe  wall  and  ditch,  strengthened 
at  intervals  by  a  gate  or  a  stouter  embrasure  for  a  gun. 
The  other  structures,  such  as  the  Banqueting  Hall, 
which  was  converted  into  a  hospital,  the  Treasury,  the 
Brigade  Mess,  the  Begum  Kotee,  the  Barracks,  and  a 
few  nondescript  houses  and  offices,  were  utterly  un- 
suited  for  defense  against  musketry  alone.  As  to  their 
capacity  to  resist  artillery  fire,  that  was  a  grim  jest 
with  the  inmates,  who  dreaded  the  fallen  masonry  as 
much  as  the  rebel  shells. 

Even  the  Residency  was  forced  to  use  its  under- 
ground rooms  for  the  protection  of  the  greater  part  of 
the  women  and  children,  while  the  remaining  buildings, 
except  the  Begum  Kotee,  which  was  comparatively 
sheltered  on  all  sides,  were  so  exposed  to  the  enemy's 
guns  that  when  some  sort  of  clearance  was  made  in 
October,  four  hundred  and  thirty-five  cannon  balls 
were  taken  out  of  the  Brigade  Mess  alone. 

Before  the  siege  commenced  the  British  also  occu- 
pied a  strong  palace  called  the  Muchee  Bhowun, 
standing  outside  the  entrenchment  and  commanding 
the  stone  bridge  across  the  river  Goomtee.  A  few 
hours'  experience  revealed  the  deadly  peril  to  which 
its  small  garrison  was  exposed,  and  Lawrence  decided 
at  all  costs  to  abandon  it.  A  rude  semaphore  was 
erected  on  the  roof  of  the  Residency,  and  on  the  first 
morning  of  the  siege,  three  officers  signaled  to  the 
commandant  of  the  outlying  fort,  Colonel  Palmer, 

170 


Wherein  Fate  plays  Tricks  with  Malcolm 

that  he  was  to  spike  his  guns,  blow  up  the  building 
and  bring  his  men  into  the  main  position.  The  three 
did  their  signaling  under  a  heavy  fire,  but  they  were 
understood.  Happily,  the  prospect  of  loot  in  the  city 
drew  off  thousands  of  the  rebels  after  sunset,  and 
Colonel  Palmer  marched  out  quietly  at  midnight.  A 
few  minutes  later  an  appalling  explosion  shook  every 
house  in  Lucknow.  The  Muchee  Bhowun,  with  its 
immense  stores,  had  been  blown  to  the  sky. 

That  same  day  Lawrence  received  what  the  Celtic 
soldiers  among  the  garrison  regarded  as  a  warning  of 
his  approaching  end.  He  was  working  in  his  room 
with  his  secretary  when  a  shell  crashed  through  the 
wall  and  burst  at  the  feet  of  the  two  men.  Neither 
was  injured,  but  Captain  Wilson,  one  of  his  staff- 
officers,  begged  the  Chief  to  remove  his  office  to  a  less 
exposed  place. 

"Nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  Sir  Henry,  cheerfully. 
"  The  sepoys  don't  possess  an  artilleryman  good  enough 
to  throw  a  second  shell  into  the  same  spot." 

"  It  will  please  all  of  us  if  you  give  in  on  this  point, 
sir,"  persisted  Wilson. 

"Oh,  well,  if  you  put  it  that  way,  I  will  turn  out 
to-morrow,"  was  the  smiling  answer. 

Next  morning  at  eight  o'clock,  after  a  round  of 
inspection,  the  general,  worn  out  by  anxiety  and  want 
of  sleep,  threw  himself  on  a  bed  in  a  corner  of  the 
room. 

Wilson  came  in. 

"Don't  forget  your  promise,  sir,"  he  said. 
171 


The  Red  Year 

"I  have  not  forgotten,  but  I  am  too  tired  to  move 
now.  Give  me  another  hour  or  two." 

Lawrence  went  on  to  explain  some  orders  to  his  aide. 
While  they  were  talking  another  shell  entered  the 
small  apartment,  exploded,  and  filled  the  air  with 
dust  and  stifling  fumes.  Wilson's  ears  were  stunned 
by  the  noise,  but  he  cried  out  twice : 

"Sir  Henry,  are  you  hurt?" 

Lawrence  murmured  something,  and  Wilson  rushed 
to  his  side.  The  coverlet  of  the  bed  was  crimson  with 
blood.  Some  men  of  the  32d  ran  in  and  carried  their 
beloved  leader  to  another  room.  Then  a  surgeon 
came  and  pronounced  the  wound  to  be  mortal.  On 
the  morning  of  the  4th  Lawrence  died.  He  was  con- 
scious to  th^  last,  and  passed  his  final  hours  planning 
and  contriving  and  making  arrangements  for  the  con- 
tinuance of  the  defense. 

"Never  surrender!"  was  his  dying  injunction. 
Shot  and  shell  battered  unceasingly  against  the  walls 
of  Dr.  Fayrer's  house  in  which  he  lay  dying,  but  their 
terrors  never  shook  that  stout  heart,  and  he  died  as  he 
lived,  a  splendid  example  of  an  officer  and  a  gentle- 
man, a  type  of  all  that  is  best  and  noblest  in  the  British 
character. 

And  Death,  who  did  not  spare  the  Chief,  sought 
lowlier  victims.  During  the  first  week  of  the  siege 
the  average  number  killed  daily  was  twenty.  Even 
when  the  troops  learnt  to  avoid  the  exposed  places, 
and  began  to  practise  the  little  tricks  and  artifices  that 
tempt  an  enemy  to  reveal  his  whereabouts  to  his  own 

172 


Wherein  Fate  plays  Tricks  with  Malcolm 

undoing,  the  daily  death-roll  was  ten  for  more  than  a 
month. 

There  was  no  real  safety  anywhere.  Even  in  the 
Begum  Kotee,  where  Winifred  and  the  other  ladies  of 
the  garrison  were  lodged,  some  of  them  were  hit. 
Twice  ere  the  end  of  July  Winifred  awoke  in  the 
morning  to  find  bullets  on  the  floor  and  the  mortar  of 
the  wall  broken  within  a  few  inches  of  her  head.  That 
she  slept  soundly  under  such  conditions  is  a  remark- 
able tribute  to  human  nature's  knack  of  adapting 
itself  to  circumstances.  After  a  few  days  of  excessive 
nervousness  the  most  timorous  among  the  women 
were  heard  to  complain  of  the  monotony  of  existence! 

And  two  amazing  facts  stand  out  from  the  record  of 
guard-mounting,  cartridge-making,  cooking,  cleaning, 
and  the  rest  of  the  every-day  doings  inseparable  from 
life  even  in  a  siege.  Although  the  rebels  now  num- 
bered at  least  twenty  thousand  men,  including  six 
thousand  trained  soldiers,  they  were  long  in  hardening 
their  hearts  to  attempt  that  escalade  which,  if  under- 
taken on  the  last  day  of  June,  could  scarcely  have  failed 
to  be  successful.  They  were  not  cowards.  They 
gave  proof  in  plenty  of  their  courage  and  fighting 
stamina.  Yet  they  cringed  before  men  whom  they 
had  learnt  to  regard  as  the  dominant  race.  The 
other  equally  surprising  element  in  the  situation  was 
the  readiness  of  the  garrison,  doomed  by  all  the  laws 
of  war  to  early  extinction,  to  extract  humor  out  of  its 
forlorn  predicament. 

The  most  dangerous  post  in  the  entrenchment  was 
173 


The  Red  Year 

the  Cawnpore  Battery.  It  was  commanded  by  a 
building  known  as  Johannes'  House,  whence  an 
African  negro,  christened  "Bob  the  Nailer"  by  the 
wits  of  the  32d,  picked  off  dozens  of  the  defenders 
during  the  opening  days  of  the  siege.  What  quarrel 
this  stranger  in  a  strange  land  had  with  the  English  no 
one  knows,  but  the  defenders  were  well  aware  of  his 
identity,  and  annoyed  him  by  exhibiting  a  most  un- 
flattering effigy.  Needless  to  say,  the  whites  of  his 
eyes  and  his  woolly  hair  were  reproduced  with  marked 
effect,  and  "Bob  the  Nailer"  gave  added  testimony  of 
his  skill  with  a  rifle  by  shooting  out  both  eyes  in  the 
dummy  figure. 

Winifred  had  heard  of  this  man.  Once  she  actually 
saw  him  while  she  was  peeping  through  a  forbidden 
casement.  Knowing  the  wholesale  destruction  of  her 
fellow-countrymen  with  which  he  was  credited,  she 
had  it  in  her  heart  to  wish  that  she  held  a  gun  at  that 
moment,  and  she  would  surely  have  done  her  best  to 
kill  him. 

He  disappeared  and  she  turned  away  with  a  sigh, 
to  meet  her  uncle  hastening  towards  her. 

"Ah,  Winifred,"  he  cried,  "what  were  you  doing 
there?  Looking  out,  I  am  certain.  Have  you  for- 
gotten the  punishment  inflicted  on  Lot's  wife  when  she 
would  not  obey  orders  ?  " 

"  I  have  just  had  a  glimpse  of  that  dreadful  negro  in 
Johannes'  House,"  she  said. 

Mr.  Mayne  threw  down  a  bundle  of  clothes  he  was 
carrying.  He  unslung  his  rifle.  His  face,  tanned  by 

174 


Wherein  Fate  plays  Tricks  with  Malcolm 

exposure  to  sun  and  rain,  lost  some  of  its  brick-red 
color. 

"Are  you  sure?"  he  whispered,  as  if  their  voices 
might  betray  them.  Like  every  other  man  in  the 
garrison  he  longed  to  check  the  career  of  "Bob  the 
Nailer." 

"  It  is  too  late,"  said  the  girl.  "  He  was  visible  only 
for  an  instant.  Look!  I  saw  him  at  that  window." 

She  partly  opened  the  wooden  shutter  again  and 
pointed  to  an  upper  story  of  the  opposite  building. 
Almost  instantly  a  bullet  imbedded  itself  in  the  solid 
planks.  Some  watcher  had  noted  the  opportunity 
and  taken  it.  Winifred  coolly  closed  the  casement  and 
adjusted  its  cross-bar. 

"Perhaps  it  is  just  as  well  you  missed  the  chance," 
she  said.  "You  might  have  been  shot  yourself  while 
you  were  taking  aim." 

"And  what  about  you,  my  lady?" 

"I  sha'n't  offend  again,  uncle,  dear.  I  really  could 
not  tell  you  why  I  looked  out  just  now.  Things  were 
quiet,  I  suppose.  And  I  forgot  that  the  opening  of  a 
window  would  attract  attention.  But  why  in  the 
world  are  you  bringing  me  portions  of  Mr.  Malcolm's 
uniform?  That  is  what  you  have  in  the  bundle,  is 
it  not?" 

"Yes.  The  three  men  who  shared  his  room  are 
dead,  and  the  place  is  wanted  as  an  extra  ward.  I 
happened  to  hear  of  it,  so  I  have  rescued  his  belongings." 

"  Do  you  —  do  you  think  he  will  ever  claim  them,  or 
that  we  shall  live  to  safeguard  them  ?  " 

175 


The  Red  Year 

"My  dear  one,  that  is  as  Providence  directs.  It  is 
something  to  be  thankful  for  that  we  are  alive  and 
uninjured.  And  that  reminds  me.  They  need  a  lot 
of  bandages  in  the  hospital.  Will  you  tear  Malcolm's 
linen  into  strips  ?  I  will  come  for  them  after  the  last 
post."  1 

He  hurried  away,  leaving  the  odd  collection  of  gar- 
ments with  her.  The  clothes  were  her  lover's  parade 
uniform,  which  Malcolm  had  carried  from  Meerut  in 
a  valise  strapped  behind  the  saddle.  The  other  articles 
were  purchased  in  Lucknow  and  had  never  been 
worn.  In  comparison  with  the  smart  full-dress  kit  of 
a  cavalry  officer  and  the  spotless  linen,  a  soiled  and 
mud-spattered  turban  looked  singularly  out  of  place. 
It  was  as  though  some  tatterdemalion  had  thrust  him- 
self into  a  gathering  of  dandies. 

Being  a  woman,  Winifred  gave  no  heed  to  the  fact 
that  the  metal  badge  on  the  crossed  folds  was  not  that 
worn  by  an  officer,  nor  did  she  observe  that  it  carried 
the  crest  of  the  2d  Cavalry,  whereas  Malcolm's 
regiment  was  the  3d.  But,  being  also  a  very  thrifty 
and  industrious  little  person,  she  decided  to  untie  the 
turban,  wash  it,  and  use  its  many  yards  of  fine  muslin 
for  the  manufacture  of  lint. 

The  folds  of  a  turban  are  usually  kept  in  position 
by  pins,  but  when  she  came  to  examine  this  one  she 
discovered  that  it  was  tied  with  whip-cord.  Her 

1  Non-military  readers  may  need  to  be  reminded  that  the 
"  last  post "  is  a  bugle-call  which  signifies  the  close  of  the  day. 
It  is  usually  succeeded  by  "  Lights  out." 

176 


Wherein  Fate  plays  Tricks  with  Malcolm 

knowledge  of  native  headgear  was  not  extensive,  so 
this  measure  of  extra  security  did  not  surprise  her. 
A  pair  of  scissors  soon  overcame  the  difficulty;  she 
shook  out  the  neat  folds,  and  a  pearl  necklace  and  a 
piece  of  paper  fell  to  the  floori 

She  was  alone  in  her  room  at  the  moment.  No  one 
heard  her  cry  of  surprise,  almost  of  terror.  One 
glance  at  the  glistening  pearls  told  her  that  they  were 
of  exceeding  value.  They  ranged  from  the  size  of  a 
small  pea  to  that  of  a  large  marble;  their  white  sheen 
and  velvet  purity  bespoke  rareness  and  skilled  selec- 
tion. The  setting  alone  would  vouch  for  their  quality. 
Each  pearl  was  secured  to  its  neighbor  by  clasps  and 
links  of  gold,  while  a  brooch-like  fastening  in  front  was 
studded  with  fine  diamonds.  Winifred  sank  to  her 
knees.  She  picked  up  this  remarkable  ornament  as 
gingerly  as  if  she  were  handling  a  dead  snake.  In  the 
vivid  light  the  pearls  shimmered  with  wonderful  and 
ever-changing  tints.  They  seemed  to  whisper  of  love, 
and  hate  —  of  all  the  passions  that  stir  heart  and 
brain  into  frenzy  —  and  through  a  mist  of  fear  and 
awed  questioning  came  a  doubt,  a  suspicion,  a  search- 
ing of  her  soul  as  she  recalled  certain  things  which  the 
thrilling  events  of  her  recent  life  had  dulled  almost  to 
extinction. 

Her  uncle  had  told  her  of  the  Princess  Roshinara's 
words  to  Malcolm  on  that  memorable  night  of  May  10, 
when  he  rode  out  from  Meerut  to  help  them.  At  the 
time,  perhaps,  a  little  pang  of  jealousy  made  its  pres- 
ence felt,  for  no  woman  can  bear  to  hear  of  another 

177 


The  Red  Year 

woman's  overtures  to  her  lover.  The  meeting  at 
Bithoor  helped  to  dispel  that  half-formed  illusion,  and 
she  had  not  troubled  since  to  ask  herself  why  the 
Princess  Roshinara  was  so  ready  to  help  Malcolm  to 
escape.  She  never  dreamed  that  she  herself  was  a 
pawn  in  the  game  that  was  intended  to  bring  Nana 
Sahib  to  Delhi.  But  now,  with  this  royal  trinket 
glittering  in  her  hands,  she  could  hardly  fail  to  connect 
it  with  the  only  Indian  princess  of  whom  she  had  any 
knowledge,  and  the  torturing  fact  was  seemingly  un- 
deniable that  Malcolm  had  this  priceless  necklace  in 
his  possession  without  telling  her  of  its  existence. 
Certainly  he  had  chosen  a  singular  hiding-place,  and 
never  did  man  treat  such  a  treasure  with  such  apparent 
carelessness.  But  —  there  it  was.  The  studied  sim- 
plicity of  its  concealment  had  been  effective.  She  had 
heard,  long  since,  how  he  parted  from  Lawrence  on 
the  Chinhut  road.  Since  that  hour  there  was  no 
possible  means  of  communicating  with  Lucknow,  even 
though  he  had  reached  Allahabad  safely. 

And  he  had  never  told  her  a  word  about  it.  It  was 
that  that  rankled.  Poor  Winifred  rose  from  her  knees 
in  a  mood  perilously  akin  to  her  hatred  of  the  negro 
who  dealt  death  or  disablement  to  her  friends  of  the 
garrison,  but,  this  time,  it  was  a  woman,  not  a  man, 
whom  she  regarded  as  the  enemy. 

Then,  in  a  bitter  temper,  she  stooped  again  to  rescue 
the  bit  of  discolored  paper  that  had  fallen  with  the 
pearls.  Her  anger  was  not  lessened  by  finding  that  it 
was  covered  with  Hindustani  characters.  They,,  of 

178 


Wherein  Fate  plays  Tricks  with  Malcolm 

course,  offered  her  no  clue  to  the  solution  of  the  mys- 
tery that  was  wringing  her  heartstrings.  If  anything, 
the  illegible  scrawl  only  added  to  her  distress.  The 
document  was  something  unknown;  therefore,  it  lent 
itself  to  distrust. 

At  any  rate,  the  turban  was  destined  not  to  be 
shredded  into  lint  that  day.  She  busied  herself  with 
tearing  up  the  rest  of  the  linen.  When  night  came, 
and  Mr.  Mayne  could  leave  his  post,  she  showed  him 
the  paper  and  asked  him  to  translate  it. 

He  was  a  good  Eastern  scholar,  but  the  dull  rays  of 
a  small  oil  lamp  were  not  helpful  in  a  task  always  diffi- 
cult to  English  eyes.  He  bent  his  brows  over  the 
script  and  began  to  decipher  some  of  the  words. 

"Malcolm-sahib  .  .  .  the  Company's  3d  Regiment 
of  Horse  .  .  .  heaven-born  Princess  Roshinara  Be- 
gum. .  .  .'  Where  in  the  world  did  you  get  this, 
Winifred,  and  how  did  it  come  into  your  possession  ?  " 
he  said. 

"  It  was  in  Mr.  Malcolm's  turban  —  the  one  you 
brought  me  to-day  from  his  quarters." 

"  In  his  turban  ?  Do  you  mean  that  it  was  hidden 
there?" 

"Yes,  something  of  the  kind." 

Mayne  examined  the  paper  again. 

"That  is  odd,"  he  muttered  after  a  pause. 

"  But  what  does  the  writing  mean  ?  You  say  it 
mentions  his  name  and  that  of  the  Princess  Roshinara  ? 
Surely  it  has  some  definite  significance  ?  " 

The  Commissioner  was  so  taken  up  with  the  effort 
179 


The  Red  Year 

to  give  each  spidery  curve  and  series  of  distinguishing 
dots  and  vowel  marks  their  proper  bearing  in  the  text 
that  he  did  not  catch  the  note  of  disdain  in  his  niece's 
voice. 

"I  have  it  now,"  he  said,  peering  at  the  document 
while  he  held  it  close  to  the  lamp.  "It  is  a  sort  of 
pass.  It  declares  that  Mr.  Malcolm  is  a  friend  of  the 
Begum  and  gives  him  safe  conduct  if  he  visits  Delhi 
within  three  days  of  the  date  named  here,  but  I  cannot 
tell  when  that  would  be,  until  I  consult  a  native  calen- 
dar. It  is  signed  by  Bahadur  Shah  and  is  altogether 
a  somewhat  curious  thing  to  be  in  Malcolm's  posses- 
sion. Is  that  all  you  know  of  it  —  merely  that  it  was 
stuck  in  a  fold  of  his  turban  ?  " 

"This  accompanied  it,"  said  Winifred,  with  a  re- 
straint that  might  have  warned  her  hearer  of  the  passion 
it  strove  to  conceal.  But  Mayne  was  deaf  to  Winifred's 
coldness.  If  he  was  startled  before,  he  was  positively 
amazed  when  she  produced  the  necklace. 

He  took  it,  appraised  its  value  silently,  and  scru- 
tinized the  workmanship  in  the  gold  links. 

"  Made  in  Delhi,"  he  half  whispered.  "A  wonderful 
thing,  probably  worth  two  lakhs  of  rupees,1  or  even 
more.  It  is  old,  too.  The  craftsman  who  fashioned 
this  clasp  is  not  to  be  found  nowadays.  Why,  it  may 
have  been  worn  by  Nurmahal  herself!  Each  of  its 
fifty  pearls  could  supply  a  chapter  of  a  romance.  And 
you  found  it,  together  with  this  safe-conduct,  in  Mal- 
colm's turban?" 

1  At  that  time,  $100,000. 
180 


Wherein  Fate  plays  Tricks  with  Malcolm 

"  Yes,  uncle.  Do  you  think  I  would  speak  carelessly 
of  such  a  precious  object?  When  one  has  discovered 
a  treasure  it  is  a  trait  of  human  nature  to  note  pretty 
closely  the  place  where  it  came  to  light." 

Mayne  was  yet  too  much  taken  up  with  puzzling 
side-issues  to  pay  heed  to  Winifred's  demeanor.  He 
remembered  the  extraordinary  proposal  made  by 
Roshinara  to  Malcolm  ere  she  drove  away  to  Delhi 
from  her  father's  hunting  lodge.  Could  it  be  possible 
that  his  young  friend  had  met  the  princess  on  other 
occasions  than  that  which  Malcolm  laughingly  described 
as  the  lunging  of  Nejdi  and  the  plunging  of  his  master  ? 
It  occurred  to  him  now,  with  a  certain  chilling  mis- 
giving, that  he  had  himself  broken  in  with  a  bewil- 
dered exclamation  when  Frank  seemed  to  regard  the 
Princess's  offer  of  employment  in  her  service  as  worthy 
of  serious  thought.  There  were  other  aspects  of  the 
affair,  aspects  so  sinister  that  he  almost  refused  to 
harbor  them.  Rather  to  gain  time  than  with  any 
definite  motive,  he  stooped  over  the  pass  again,  mean- 
ing to  read  it  word  for  word. 

"Of  course  you  have  not  forgotten,  uncle,  that  Mr. 
Malcolm  took  us  into  his  confidence  so  far  as  to  tell  us 
of  the  curious  letter  that  reached  him  after  the  second 
battle  outside  Delhi?"  said  Winifred.  "It  saved  him 
at  Bithoor  when  the  men  from  Cawnpore  meant  to 
hang  him,  and,  seeing  that  he  had  the  one  article  in 
his  possession,  it  is  passing  strange  that  he  should  have 
omitted  to  mention  the  other  —  to  me." 

Then  the  man  knew  what  it  all  meant  to  the  girl. 
181 


The  Red  Year 

He  placed  his  arm  around  her  neck  and  drew  her 
towards  him. 

"My  poor  Winifred!"  he  murmured,  "you  might 
at  least  have  been  spared  such  a  revelation  at  this 
moment." 

His  sympathy  broke  down  her  pride.  She  sobbed 
as  though  her  heart  would  yield  beneath  the  strain. 
For  a  little  while  there  was  no  sound  in  the  room  but 
Winifred's  plaints,  while  ever  and  anon  the  walls 
shook  with  the  crash  of  the  cannonade  and  the  bursting 
of  shells. 

Ahmed  Ullah,  Moulvie  of  Fyzabad,  had  a  quick  ear 
for  the  arrival  of  the  native  officer  of  cavalry  from 
Lucknow. 

"Peace  be  with  thee,  brother!"  said  he,  after  a 
shrewd  glance  at  the  travel-worn  and  blood-stained 
man  and  horse.  "Thou  has  ridden  far  and  fast. 
What  news  hast  thou  of  the  Jehad,1  and  how  fares  it 
at  Lucknow?" 

"  With  thee  be  peace ! "  was  the  reply.  "  We  fought 
the  Nazarenes  yesterday  at  a  place  called  Chinhut, 
and  sent  hundreds  of  the  infidel  dogs  to  the  fifth  circle 
of  Jehannum.  The  few  who  escaped  our  swords  are 
penned  up  in  the  Residency,  and  its  walls  are  now 
crumbling  before  our  guns.  By  the  tomb  of  Nizam- 
ud-din,  the  unbelievers  must  have  fallen  ere  the  present 
hour." 

The  moulvie's  wicked  eyes  sparkled. 
1  "  Religious  war." 
182 


Wherein  Fate  plays  Tricks  with  Malcolm 

"Praise  be  to  Allah  and  his  Prophet  forever!"  he 
cried.  "  How  came  this  thing  to  pass  ?  " 

"My  regiment  took  the  lead,"  said  the  rissaldar, 
proudly.  "We  had  long  chafed  under  the  commands 
of  the  huzoors.  At  last  we  rose  and  made  short  work 
of  our  officers.  You  see  here  — "  and  he  touched  a 
rent  in  his  right  side,  "where  one  of  them  tried  to  stop 
the  thrust  that  ended  him.  But  I  clave  him  to  the 
chin,  the  swine-eater,  and  when  Larrence-sahib  attacked 
us  at  Chin  hut  we  chased  him  over  the  Canal  and 
through  the  streets. 

"Wao!  wao!  This  is  good  hearing!  Wast  thou 
sent  by  some  of  the  faithful  to  summon  me,  brother  ? " 

"  To  summon  thee  and  all  true  believers  to  the  green 
standard.  Yet  had  I  one  other  object  in  riding  to  Rai 
Bareilly.  A  certain  Nazarene,  Malcolm  by  name,  an 
officer  of  the  3d  Cavalry,  was  bidden  by  Larrence  to 
make  for  Allahabad  and  seek  help.  The  story  runs 
that  the  Nazarenes  are  mustering  there  for  a  last  stand 
ere  we  drive  them  into  the  sea.  This  Malcolm-sahib — " 

"Enough!"  said  the  moulvie,  fiercely,  for  his  self- 
love  was  wounded  at  learning  that  the  rebel  messenger 
classed  him  with  the  mob.  "  We  have  him  here.  He 
is  in  safe  keeping  when  he  is  in  the  hands  of  Ahmed 
Ullah!" 

"What!"  exclaimed  the  newcomer  with  a  mighty 
oath.  "  Are  you  the  saintly  Moulvie  of  Fyzabad  ?  " 

"  Whom  else,  then,  did  you  expect  to  find  ?  " 

"You,  indeed,  O  revered  one.  But  not  here.  My 
orders  were,  once  I  had  secured  the  Nazarene,  to  send 

183 


The  Red  Year 

urgently  to  Fyzabad  and  bid  you  hurry  to  Lucknow 
with  all  speed." 

"Ha!  Say'st  thou,  friend.  Who  gave  thee  this 
message  ?  " 

"One  whom  thou  wilt  surely  listen  to.  Yet  these 
things  are  not  for  every  man  to  hear.  We  must  speak 
of  them  apart." 

The  moulvie  was  appeased.  Nay,  more,  his  am- 
bition was  fired. 

"Come  with  me  into  the  house.  You  are  in  need 
of  food  and  rest.  Come!  We  can  talk  while  you  eat." 

He  drew  nearer,  but  a  woman's  voice  was  raised 
from  behind  a  screen  in  one  of  the  rooms. 

"  Tarry  yet  a  minute,  friend.  I  would  le*arn  more  of 
events  in  Lucknow.  Tell  us  more  fully  what  has 
taken  place  there." 

"The  Begum  of  Oudh  must  be  obeyed,"  said  Ahmed 
Ullah  with  a  warning  glance  at  the  other.  He  was 
met  with  a  villainous  and  intriguing  look  that  would 
have  satisfied  Machiavelli,  but  the  officer  bowed  low 
before  the  screen. 

"I  am,  indeed,  honored  to  be  the  bearer  of  good 
tidings  to  royal  ears,"  said  he.  "Doubtless  I  should 
have  been  entrusted  with  letters  for  your  highness 
were  not  the  city  in  some  confusion  owing  to  the 
fighting." 

"Who  commands  our  troops?"  came  the  sharp 
demand. 

"At  present,  your  highness,  the  Nawab  of  Rampur 
represents  the  King  of  Oudh." 

184 


Wherein  Fate  plays  Tricks  with  Malcolm 

"  The  Nawab  of  Rampur !  That  cannot  be  tolerated. 
Ahmed  Ullah!" 

"I  am  here,"  growled  the  moulvie,  smiling  sourly. 

"We  must  depart  within  the  hour.  Let  my  litter 
be  prepared,  and  send  men  on  horseback  to  provide 
relays  of  carriers  every  ten  miles.  Delay  not.  The 
matter  presses." 

There  could  be  no  mistaking  the  agitation  of  the 
hidden  speaker.  That  an  admitted  rival  of  her  father's 
dynasty  should  be  even  the  nominal  leader  of  the  revolt 
was  not  to  be  endured.  The  mere  suggestion  of  such 
a  thing  was  gall  and  wormwood.  None  realized  better 
than  this  arch-priestess  of  cabal  that  a  predominating 
influence  gained  at  the  outset  of  a  new  regime  might 
never  be  weakened  by  those  who  were  shut  out  by 
circumstances  from  a  share  in  the  control  of  events. 
Even  the  fanatical  moulvie  gasped  at  this  intelligence, 
though  his  shrewd  wit  taught  him  that  the  rissaldar  had 
not  exchanged  glances  with  him  without  good  reason. 

"Come,  then,"  said  he,  "and  eat.  I  have  much 
occupation,  and  it  will  free  thy  hands  if  I  see  to  the 
hanging  of  the  Feringhi  forthwith." 

"Nay,  that  cannot  be,"  was  the  cool  reply,  as  the 
two  entered  the  building.  "I  would  not  have  ridden 
so  hard  through  the  night  for  the  mere  stringing  up  of 
one  Nazarene.  By  the  holy  Kaaba,  we  gave  dozens 
of  them  a  speedier  death  yesterday." 

"  What  other  errand  hast  thou  ?  The  matter  touches 
only  the  Nazarene's  attempt  to  reach  Allahabad,  I 
suppose  ?  " 

185 


The  Red  Year 

"That  is  a  small  thing.  Our  brothers  at  Cawnpore 
may  have  secured  Allahabad  and  other  towns  in  the 
Doab  long  ere  to-day.  This  Frank  comes  back  with 
me  to  Lucknow.  If  I  bring  him  alive  I  earn  a  jaghir,1 
if  dead,  only  a  few  gold  mohtirs." 

"Thy  words  are  strange,  brother." 

"  Not  so  strange  as  the  need  that  this  Feringhi  should 
live  till  he  reaches  Lucknow.  He  hath  in  his  keeping 
certain  papers  that  concern  the  Roshinara  Begum  of 
Delhi,  and  he  must  be  made  to  confess  their  where- 
abouts. So  far  as  that  goes,  what  is  the  difference 
between  a  tree  in  Rai  Bareilly  and  a  tree  in  Lucknow  ?  '* 

"True,  if  the  affair  presses.  Nevertheless,  to  those 
who  follow  me,  I  may  have  the  bestowing  of  many 
jaghirs." 

"I  will  follow  thee  with  all  haste,  O  holy  one,"  was 
the  answer,  "but  a  field  in  a  known  village  is  larger 
than  a  township  in  an  unknown  kingdom.  Let  me 
secure  this  jaghir  first,  O  worthy  of  honor,  and  I  shall 
come  quickly  to  thee  for  the  others." 

"How  came  it  that  Nawab  of  Rampur  assumed 
the  leadership?"  inquired  Ahmed  Ullah,  his  mind 
reverting  to  the  graver  topic  of  the  rebellion. 

The  other  scowled  sarcastically. 

"He  is  of  no  account,"  he  muttered.     "Was  I  mis- 
taken in  thinking  that  thou  didst  not  want  all  my 
budget  opened  for  a  woman  ?    He  who  gave  me  a 
message  for  thee  was  the  moullah  who  dwells  near  the 
Imainbara.    Dost  thou  not  know  him  ?    Ghazi-ud-din. 
1  An  estate. 
186 


Wherein  Fate  plays  Tricks  with  Malcolm 

He  sent  me.  '  Tell  the  Moulvie  of  Fyzabad  that  he  is 
wanted  —  he  will  understand,'  said  he.  And  now, 
when  I  have  eaten,  lead  me  to  the  Feringhi.  Leave 
him  to  me.  Within  two  days  I  shall  have  more  news 
for  thee." 

The  name  of  Ghazi-ud-din,  a  firebrand  of  the  front 
rank  in  Lucknow,  proved  to  Ahmed  Ullah  that  his 
opportunity  had  come.  He  gave  orders  that  the  wants 
of  the  cavalry  officer  and  his  horse  were  to  be  attended 
to,  while  he  himself  bustled  off  to  prepare  for  an  im- 
mediate journey. 

When  the  Begum  and  the  moulvie  departed  for 
Lucknow  they  were  accompanied  by  nearly  the  whole 
of  their  retinue.  Two  men  were  left  to  assist  the 
rissaldar  in  taking  care  of  the  prisoner,  and  these  two 
vowed  by  the  Prophet  that  they  had  never  met  such  a 
swashbuckler  as  the  stranger,  for  he  used  strange 
oaths  that  delighted  them  and  told  stories  of  the  sacking 
of  Lucknow  that  made  them  tingle  with  envy. 

Oddly  enough,  he  was  very  anxious  that  the  Naza- 
rene's  horse  should  be  recovered,  and  was  so  pleased 
to  hear  that  Nejdi  was  caught  in  a  field  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  town  and  brought  in  during  the  after- 
noon that  he  promised  his  assistants  a  handful  of 
gold  mohurs  apiece  —  when  they  reached  Lucknow. 

Once,  ere  sunset,  he  visited  the  prisoner  and  cursed 
him  with  a  fluency  that  caused  all  listeners  to  own 
that  the  warriors  of  the  7th  Cavalry  must,  indeed,  be 
fine  fellows. 

At  last,  when  Frank  was  led  forth  and  helped  into 
187 


The  Red  Year 

the  saddle,  his  guardian's  flow  of  humorous  invective 
reached  heights  that  pleased  the  villagers  immensely. 
The  Nazarene's  hands  were  tied  behind  him,  and  the 
gallant  rissaldar,  holding  the  Arab's  reins,  rode  by  his 
side.  The  moulvie's  men  followed,  and  in  this  guise 
the  quartette  quitted  Rai  Bareilly  for  the  north. 

They  were  about  a  mile  on  their  way  and  the  sun 
was  nearing  the  horizon,  when  the  native  officer  bade 
his  escort  halt. 

"  Bones  of  Mahomet ! "  he  cried,  "  what  am  I  think- 
ing of?  My  horse  has  done  fifty  miles  in  twenty -four 
hours,  and  the  Feringhi's  probably  more  than  that. 
Hath  not  the  moulvie  friends  in  Rai  Bareilly  who  will 
lend  us  a  spare  pair  ?  " 

Ahmed  Ullah's  retainers  hazarded  the  opinion  that 
their  master's  presence  might  be  necessary  ere  friend- 
ship stood  such  a  strain. 

"Then  why  not  make  the  Nazarene  pay  for  his 
journey?"  said  the  rissaldar  with  grim  humor. 

He  showed  skill  as  a  cut-purse  in  going  straight  to 
an  inner  pocket  where  Malcolm  carried  some  small 
store  of  money.  Taking  ten  gold  mohurs,  he  told  the 
men  to  hasten  back  to  the  village  and  purchase  a  couple 
of  strong  ponies. 

"Nay,"  said  he,  when  they  made  to  ride  off.  "You 
must  go  afoot,  else  I  may  never  again  see  you  or  the 
tats.  I  will  abide  here  till  you  return.  See  that  you 
lose  no  time,  but  if  darkness  falls  speedily  I  will  await 
you  in  the  next  village." 

Not  daring  to  argue  with  this  truculent-looking 
188 


Wherein  Fate  plays  Tricks  with  Malcolm 

bravo,  the  men  obeyed.  Already  it  was  dusk  and 
daylight  would  soon  fail.  No  sooner  had  they  dis- 
appeared round  the  first  bend  in  the  road  than  the 
rissaldar,  unfastening  Malcolm's  bonds  the  while,  said 
with  a  strange  humility: 

"It  was  easier  done  than  I  expected,  sahib,  but  I 
guessed  that  my  story  about  the  Nawab  of  Rampur 
would  send  Moulvie  and  Begum  packing.  Now  we 
are  free,  and  we  have  four  horses.  Whither  shall  we 
go  ?  But,  if  it  be  north,  south,  east,  or  west,  let  us 
leave  the  main  road,  for  messengers  may  meet  the 
moulvie  and  that  would  make  him  suspicious." 

"  Thy  counsel  is  better  than  mine,  good  friend,"  was 
Frank's  answer.  "I  am  yet  dazed  with  thy  success, 
and  my  only  word  is  —  to  Allahabad." 


189 


CHAPTER  XI 

A   DAY'S   ADVENTURES 

THOUGH  his  arm  was  stiff  and  painful,  the  rough 
bandaging  it  had  received  and  the  coarse  food  given 
him  in  sufficient  quantity  at  Rai  Bareilly,  had  partly 
restored  Malcolm's  strength.  Nevertheless  he  thought 
his  mind  was  failing  when,  in  the  dim  light  of  the  inner 
room  in  which  he  was  confined,  he  saw  Chumru  stand- 
ing before  him. 

His  servant's  warlike  attire  was  sufficiently  bewilder- 
ing, and  the  sonorous  objurgations  with  which  he  was 
greeted  were  not  calculated  to  dispel  the  cloud  over 
his  wits,  but  a  whispered  sentence  gave  hope,  and  hope 
is  a  wonderful  restorative. 

"  Pretend  not  to  know  me,  sahib,  and  all  will  be  well," 
said  his  unexpected  ally,  and,  from  that  instant  until 
they  stood  together  on  the  Lucknow  road,  Malcolm 
had  guarded  tongue  and  eye  hi  the  firm  faith  that 
Chumru  would  save  him. 

He  was  not  mistaken.  The  adroit  Mohammedan 
knew  better  than  to  trust  his  sahib  and  himself  too 
long  on  the  highway. 

"They  will  surely  make  search  for  us,  huzoor,"  he 
said  as  they  headed  across  country  towards  a  distant 

190 


A  Day's  Adventures 

ridge,  thickly  coated  with  trees.  "The  Begum  and 
Ahmed  Ullah  met  here  for  a  purpose,  and  their  friends 
will  not  fail  to  tell  them  of  the  trouble  in  Lucknow. 
I  have  been  shaking  in  my  boots  all  day,  for  'tis  ill 
resting  in  the  jungle  when  tigers  are  loose,  but  I  knew 
you  could  not  ride  in  the  sun,  and  I  saw  no  other  way 
of  getting  rid  of  the  moulvie's  men  than  that  of  sending 
them  back  in  the  dark." 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  Malcolm,  with  a  weak  laugh, 
"that  you  would  not  have  scrupled  to  knock  both  of 
them  on  the  head  if  necessary." 

"No,  sahib,  they  are  my  kin.  He  who  wore  this 
uniform  was  a  Brahmin,  and  that  makes  all  the  differ- 
ence. Brother  does  not  slay  brother  unless  there  be  a 
woman  in  dispute." 

"When  did  you  leave  the  Residency?" 

"About  nine  o'clock  last  night,  sahib." 

"  Did  you  see  the  miss-sahib  before  you  came  away  ?  " 

"It  was  she  who  told  me  whither  you  had  gone, 
sahib." 

"Ah,  she  knew,  then?  Did  she  say  aught  —  send 
any  message?" 

"Only  that  you  would  be  certain  to  need  my  help, 
sahib." 

That  puzzled  Frank.  Winifred,  of  course,  had  said 
nothing  of  the  kind,  but  Chumru  assumed  that  she 
understood  him,  so  his  misrepresentation  was  quite 
honest. 

A  level  path  now  enabled  them  to  canter,  and  they 
reached  the  first  belt  of  trees  ten  minutes  after  the 

191 


The  Red  Year 

moulvie's  men  set  out  for  Rai  Bareilly.  Luck,  which 
was  befriending  Chumru  that  day,  must  have  made 
possible  that  burst  of  speed  at  the  right  moment. 
They  were  discussing  their  plans  in  the  gloom  of  a 
grove  of  giant  pipals  when  the  clatter  of  horses  hard 
ridden  came  from  the  road  they  had  just  quitted. 

There  could  be  no  doubting  the  errand  that  brought 
a  cavalcade  thus  furiously  from  the  direction  of  Luck- 
now.  It  was  so  near  a  thing  that  for  a  little  while  they 
could  not  be  certain  they  had  escaped  unseen.  But 
the  riders  whirled  along  towards  Rai  Bareilly,  and  in 
another  quarter  of  an  hour  the  night  would  be  their 
best  guardian. 

"That  settles  it,"  said  Malcolm,  in  whose  veins  the 
blood  was  now  coursing  with  its  normal  vitality,  though, 
for  the  same  reason,  his  right  forearm  ached  abom- 
inably. "It  would  be  folly  to  attempt  the  road  again. 
Let  us  make  for  the  river.  We  must  find  a  boat  there, 
and  get  men  to  take  us  to  Allahabad,  either  by  hire  or 
force." 

"  How  far  is  it  to  the  river,  sahib  ?  " 

"About  twenty-five  miles." 

"Praise  be  to  Allah!  That  is  better  than  seventy, 
for  my  feet  are  weary  of  that  accursed  Brahmin's 
boots." 

They  stumbled  on,  leading  the  horses,  until  the  first 
dark  hour  made  progress  impossible.  Then,  when 
the  evening  mists  melted  and  the  stars  gave  a  faint 
light,  they  resumed  the  march,  for  every  mile  gained 
now  was  worth  five  at  dawn  if  perchance  their  hunters 

192 


A  Day's  Adventures 

thought  of  making  a  circular  sweep  of  the  country  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Rai  Bareilly. 

It  was  a  glorious  night.  The  rain  of  the  preceding 
day  had  freshened  the  air,  and  towards  midnight  the 
moon  sailed  into  the  blue  arc  overhead,  so  they  were 
able  to  mount  again  and  travel  at  a  faster  pace.  Twice 
they  were  warned  by  the  barking  of  dogs  of  the  prox- 
imity of  small  villages.  They  gave  these  places  a  wide 
berth,  since  there  was  no  knowing  what  hap  might 
bring  a  ryot  who  had  seen  them  into  communication 
with  the  moulvie's  followers. 

Each  hamlet  marked  the  center  of  a  cultivated  area. 
They  could  distinguish  the  jungle  from  the  arable 
land  almost  by  the  animals  they  disturbed.  A  gray 
wolf,  skulking  through  the  sparsely  wooded  waste, 
would  be  succeeded  by  a  herd  of  timid  deer.  Then  a 
sounder  of  pigs,  headed  by  a  ten-inch  tusker,  would 
scamper  out  of  the  border  crop,  while  a  pack  of  jackals, 
rending  the  calm  night  with  their  maniac  yelping, 
would  start  every  dog  within  a  mile  into  a  frenzy  of 
hoarse  barking.  Sometimes  a  fox  slunk  across  their 
path.  Out  of  many  a  tuft  they  drove  a  startled  hare. 
In  the  dense  undergrowth  hummed  and  rustled  a 
hidden  life  of  greater  mystery. 

Where  water  lodged  after  the  rain  there  were  count- 
less millions  of  frogs,  croaking  in  harsh  chorus,  and 
being  ceaselessly  hunted  by  the  snakes  which  the 
monsoon  had  driven  from  their  nooks  and  crannies  in 
the  rocks.  On  such  a  night  all  India  seems  to  be 
dead  as  a  land  but  tremendously  alive  as  a  storehouse 

193 


The  Red  Year 

of  insects,  animals,  and  reptiles.  Even  the  air  has 
its  strange  denizens  in  the  guise  of  huge  beetles  and 
vampire-winged  flying  foxes.  And  that  is  why  men 
call  it  the  unchanging  East.  Civilization  has  made 
but  few  marks  on  its  far-flung  plains.  Its  peoples  are 
either  nomads  or  dwell  in  huts  of  mud  and  straw  and 
scratch  the  earth  to  grow  their  crops  as  their  forbears 
have  done  since  the  dawn  of  history. 

When  the  amber  and  rose  tints  of  dawn  gave  distance 
to  the  horizon  the  fugitives  estimated  that  they  had 
traversed  some  fifteen  miles.  Malcolm  was  ready  to 
drop  with  fatigue.  He  was  wounded;  he  had  not  slept 
during  two  nights;  he  had  fought  in  a  lost  battle  and 
ridden  sixty-five  miles,  without  counting  his  exertions 
before  going  to  the  field  of  Chinhut.  Nejdi  and  the 
horse  which  brought  Chumru  from  Lucknow  were 
nearly  exhausted.  Even  the  hardy  Mohammedan  was 
haggard  and  spent,  and  his  oblique  eyes  glowed  like 
the  red  embers  of  a  dying  fire. 

"Sahib,"  he  said,  when  they  came  upon  a  villager 
and  his  wife  scraping  opium  from  unripe  poppy-heads 
in  a  field,  "unless  we  rest  and  eat  we  shall  find  no 
boat  on  Ganga  to-day." 

This  was  so  undeniable  that  Malcolm  did  not  hesi- 
tate to  ask  the  ryot  for  milk  and  eggs.  The  man  was 
civil.  Indeed,  he  thought  the  Englishman  was  some 
important  official  and  took  Chumru  for  his  native 
deputy.  He  threw  down  the  scoop,  handed  to  his  wife 
an  earthen  vessel  half  full  of  the  milky  sap  gathered 
from  the  plants,  and  led  the  "  huzoors "  at  once  to  his 

194 


A  Day's  Adventures 

shieling.  Here  he  produced  some  ghee  and  chupatties, 
and  half  a  dozen  raw  eggs.  The  feast  might  not  tempt 
an  epicure,  but  its  components  were  excellent  and 
Frank  was  well  aware  that  the  ghee  was  exceedingly 
nutritious,  though  nauseating  to  European  taste,  being 
practically  rancid  butter  made  from  buffalo  milk. 

There  was  plenty  of  fodder  for  the  horses,  too,  and 
they  showed  their  good  condition  by  eating  freely. 
The  ryot  eyed  Chumru  doubtingly  when  Malcolm 
gave  him  five  rupees.  Under  ordinary  conditions,  the 
sahib's  native  assistant  would  demand  the  return  of 
the  money  at  the  first  convenient  moment,  and,  indeed, 
Chumru  himself  was  in  the  habit  of  exacting  a  stiff 
commission  on  his  master's  disbursements.  Frank 
smiled  at  the  man's  embarrassed  air. 

"The  money  is  thine,  friend,"  said  he,  quietly,  "and 
there  is  more  to  be  earned  if  thou  art  so  minded." 

"  I  am  but  a  poor  man  — "  began  the  ryot. 

"Just  so.  Not  every  day  canst  thou  obtain  good 
payment  for  a  few  hours'  work.  Now,  listen.  How 
far  is  the  Ganges  from  here  ?  " 

"Less  than  three  hours,  sahib." 

"What,  for  horses?" 

"Not  so,  sahib.  A  horse  can  cover  the  distance  in 
an  hour  —  if  he  be  not  weary." 

The  peasant  could  use  his  eyes,  it  seemed,  but  Mal- 
colm passed  the  phrase  without  comment. 

"We  have  lost  our  way,"  he  said.  "We  want  to 
reach  the  river  and  take  boat  speedily  to  Allahabad. 
If  one  like  thyself  were  willing  to  ride  with  us  to  the 

195 


The  Red  Year 

nearest  village  on  the  bank  where  boats  can  be  obtained, 
we  would  give  him  ten  rupees,  and,  moreover,  let  him 
keep  the  horse  that  carried  him." 

The  ryot  was  delighted  with  his  good  fortune. 

"Blessed  be  Kali!"  he  cried.  "I  saw  five  female 
ghosts  with  goats'  heads  in  a  tree  last  night,  and  my 
wife  said  it  betokened  a  journey  and  wealth.  Not  only 
can  I  bring  you  by  the  shortest  road,  huzoor,  but  my 
brother  has  a  budgerow  moored  at  the  ghat,  meaning 
to  carry  my  castor-oil  seeds  to  Mirzapur.  I  am  not 
ready  for  him  yet  for  three  weeks  or  more,  and  he  will 
ask  no  better  occupation  than  to  drop  down  stream 
with  you  and  your  camp." 

"I  have  no  camp,"  said  Malcolm,  "but  I  pay  the 
same  rates  for  the  boat." 

"  The  sahib  means  that  his  camp  marches  by  road," 
put  in  Chumru,  severely.  "Didst  not  hear  him  say 
that  we  have  mislaid  the  track  ?  " 

The  ryot  apologized  for  his  stupidity,  and  Frank 
recognized  that  his  retainer  disapproved  very  strongly 
of  such  strict  adherence  to  the  truth.  On  the  plea 
that  they  must  hasten  if  the  midday  heat  were  to  be 
avoided,  they  cut  short  the  halt  to  less  than  an  hour. 
When  they  came  to  tighten  the  girths  again  they  found 
that  Chumru's  horse  had  fallen  lame.  As  Nejdi,  too, 
was  showing  signs  of  stiffness,  Malcolm  mounted  one 
of  the  spare  animals  and  led  the  Arab.  Chumru  and 
the  ryot  bestrode  the  third  horse,  and  under  the  guid- 
ance of  one  who  knew  every  path,  they  set  out  for  the 
Ganges. 

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A  Day's  Adventures 

There  are  few  features  of  the  landscape  so  complex 
in  their  windings  as  the  foot-paths  of  India.  Owing 
to  the  immense  distances  between  towns  —  the  fertile 
and  densely  populated  Doab  offers  no  standard  of 
comparison  for  the  remainder  of  a  vast  continent  — 
roads  were  scarce  and  far  between  in  Mutiny  days. 
The  Grand  Trunk  Road  and  the  rivers  Ganges  and 
Jumna  were  the  main  arteries  of  traffic.  For  the  rest, 
men  marched  across  country,  and  the  narrow  ribands 
of  field  tracks  meandered  through  plowed  land  and 
jungle,  traversed  nullah  and  hill  and  wood,  and  inter- 
sected each  other  in  a  tangle  that  was  wholly  inex- 
tricable unless  one  traveled  by  the  compass  or  by 
well-known  landmarks,  where  such  were  visible. 

The  ryot,  of  course,  familiar  with  each  yard  of  the 
route,  practically  followed  a  straight  line.  After  a 
steady  jog  of  an  hour  and  a  half  they  saw  the  silver 
thread  of  the  Ganges  from  the  crest  of  a  small  ridge 
that  ran  north  and  south.  The  river  was  then  about 
three  miles  distant,  and  they  were  hurrying  down  the 
descent  when  they  came  upon  an  ekka,  a  little  native 
two-wheeled  cart,  without  springs,  and  drawn  by  a 
diminutive  pony.  Alone  among  wheeled  conveyances, 
the  ekka  can  leave  the  main  roads  in  fairly  level  country, 
and  this  one  had  evidently  brought  a  zemindar  from  a 
riverside  village. 

The  man  himself,  a  portly,  full-bearded  Mohamme- 
dan, was  examining  a  growing  crop,  and  his  behavior, 
no  less  than  the  furtive  looks  cast  at  the  newcomers  by 
his  driver,  warned  Malcolm  that  here,  for  a  certainty, 

197 


The  Red  Year 

the  Mutiny  was  a  known  thing.  The  zemindar's  face 
assumed  a  bronze-green  tint  when  he  saw  the  Euro- 
pean officer,  and  the  sulky-looking  native  perched 
behind  the  shafts  of  the  ekka  growled  something  in  the 
local  patois  that  caused  the  ryot  sitting  behind  Chumru 
to  squirm  uneasily. 

The  other  glanced  hastily  around,  as  though  he  hoped 
to  find  assistance  near,  and  Chumru  muttered  to  his 
master: 

"  Have  a  care,  sahib,  else  we  may  hop  on  to  a  limed 
twig." 

The  boldest  course  was  the  best  one.  Malcolm 
rode  up  to  the  zemindar,  who  was  separated  some 
forty  paces  from  the  ekka. 

"I  come  from  Lucknow,"  he  said.  "What  news  is 
there  from  Fattehpore  and  Allahabad  ?  " 

The  man  hesitated.  He  was  so  completely  taken 
aback  by  the  sight  of  an  armed  officer  riding  towards 
him  in  broad  daylight  —  for  Malcolm  having  lost  his 
own  sword  had  taken  Chumru's  —  that  he  was  hardly 
prepared  to  meet  the  emergency. 

"There  is  little  news,"  he  said,  at  last,  and  it  was 
not  lost  on  his  questioner  that  the  customary  phrases 
of  respect  were  omitted,  though  he  spoke  civilly  enough. 

"Nevertheless,  what  is  it?"  demanded  Frank. 
"Has  the  Mutiny  spread  thus  far,  or  is  it  confined  to 
Cawnpore  ?  " 

"I  know  not  what  you  mean,"  was  the  self-con- 
tained answer.  "In  this  district  we  are  peaceable 
people.  We  look  after  our  crops,  even  as  I  am  engaged 

198 


A  Day's  Adventures 

at  this  moment,  and  have  no  concern  with  what  goes 
on  elsewhere." 

"A  most  worthy  and  honorable  sentiment,  and  I 
trust  it  will  avail  you  when  we  have  hanged  all  these 
rebels  and  we  come  to  inquire  into  the  conduct 
of  your  village.  I  want  you  to  accompany  me 
now  and  place  my  orderly  and  myself  on  board  a 
boat  for  Allahabad." 

"  That  is  impossible  —  sahib  — "  and  the  words 
came  reluctantly  —  "  there  are  no  boats  on  the  river 
these  days." 

"Why  not?" 

"They  are  all  away,  carrying  grain  and  hay." 

"  What  then,  are  your  crops  so  forward  ?  This  one 
will  not  be  ready  for  harvesting  ere  another  month." 

"You  will  not  find  a  budgerow  on  this  side.  Per- 
chance they  will  ferry  you  across  at  the  village  in  a 
small  boat,  and  you  will  have  better  accommodation 
at  Fattehpore." 

"  Are  we  opposite  Fattehpore  ?  " 

"Yes  — sahib." 

All  the  while  the  zemindar's  eyes  were  looking  fur- 
tively from  Frank  to  the  lower  ground.  It  was  a 
puzzling  situation.  The  man  was  not  actively  hostile, 
yet  his  manner  betrayed  an  undercurrent  of  fear  and 
dislike  that  could  only  be  accounted  for  by  the  downfall 
of  British  power  in  the  locality.  Thinking  Chumru 
could  deal  better  with  his  fellow-countryman,  Malcolm 
called  him,  breaking  in  on  a  lively  conversation  that 
was  going  on  between  his  servant  and  the  ekka-wallah. 

199 


The  Red  Year 

Chumru,  who  had  told  the  ryot  to  dismount,  came 
at  once. 

"Our  friend  here  says  that  things  are  quiet  on  the 
river,  but  there  are  no  boats  to  be  had,"  explained 
Malcolm.  Chumru  grinned,  and  the  zemindar  re- 
garded him  with  troubled  eyes. 

"Excellent,"  he  said.  "We  shall  go  to  his  house 
and  wait  while  his  servants  look  for  a  boat." 

This  suggestion  seemed  to  please  the  other  man. 

"I  will  go  on  in  front  in  the  ekka,"  he  agreed,  "and 
lead  you  to  my  dwelling  speedily." 

Chumru  edged  nearer  his  master  while  their  new 
acquaintance  walked  towards  the  ekka. 

"Jump  down  and  tie  both  when  I  give  the  word, 
sahib,"  he  whispered.  "There  has  been  murder  done 
here." 

Malcolm  understood  instantly  that  his  native  com- 
panion had  found  the  ekka-wallah  more  communi- 
cative. In  fact,  Chumru  had  fooled  the  man  by 
pretending  a  willingness  to  slay  the  Feringhi  forthwith, 
and  the  sheep-like  ryot  was  now  livid  with  terror  at  the 
prospect  of  witnessing  an  immediate  killing. 

When  the  zemindar  was  close  to  the  ekka,  Chumru 
whipped  out  one  of  the  Brahmin's  cavalry  pistols. 

"Now,  sahib!"  he  cried.  Malcolm  drew  his  sword 
and  sprang  down.  The  zemindar  fell  on  his  knees. 

"Spare  my  life,  huzoor,  and  I  will  tell  thee  every- 
thing," he  roared. 

Were  he  not  so  worn  with  fatigue,  and  were  not  the 
issues  depending  on  the  man's  revelations  so  impor- 

200 


A  Day's  Adventures 

tant,  Malcolm  could  have  laughed  at  this  remarkable 
change  of  tone.  The  flabby,  well-fed  rascal  squealed 
like  a  pig  when  the  point  of  the  sword  touched  his  skin, 
and  the  Englishman  was  forced  to  scowl  fiercely  to 
hide  a  smile. 

"Speak,  sug,"1  he  said.  "What  of  Fattehpore  and 
Allahabad,  and  be  sure  thou  has  spent  thy  last  hour  if 
thou  liest." 

"Sahib,  God  knoweth  that  I  can  tell  thee  naught  of 
Allahabad,  but  the  budmashes  at  Fattehpore  have  risen, 
and  Tucker-sahib  is  dead.  They  killed  him,  I  have 
heard,  after  a  fight  on  the  roof  of  the  cutcherry." 

Malcolm  guessed  rightly  that  Mr.  Tucker  was  the 
judge  at  that  station,  but  he  must  not  betray  ignorance. 

"  And  the  others  —  they  who  fled  ?  What  of  them  ?  " 
he  said,  knowing  that  the  scenes  enacted  elsewhere 
must  have  had  their  counterpart  at  Fattehpore. 

"Wow!"  The  kneeling  man  flinched  as  the  sword 
pricked  him  again.  "There  are  two  mems  2  in  a  house 
near  the  ghat.  They  alone  remain  of  those  who 
crossed.  And  I  saved  them,  sahib.  I  swear  it,  by 
the  Kaaba,  I  saved  them." 

"They  are  young,  doubtless,  and  good-looking?" 

A  new  fear  shone  in  the  Mohammedan's  eyes,  and 
he  did  not  answer.  Frank's  gorge  rose  with  a  deadly 
disgust,  and  it  is  hard  to  say  that  his  sword  would  not 
have  gone  home  in  another  instant  had  not  Chumru 
interfered: 

1 A  contemptuous  use  of  the  word  "  dog." 
2  Short  for  mem-sahibs;  ladies. 

201 


The  Red  Year 

"  Kill  him  not  yet,  sahib.  He  may  be  useful.  Bind 
him  and  the  other  slave  back  to  back.  Then  I  shall 
help  you  to  truss  them  properly." 

Chumru  soon  showed  that  he  meant  business.  When 
he  was  free  to  replace  the  pistol  in  the  holster,  which 
he  did  all  the  more  readily  since  he  had  never  used  a 
firearm  in  his  life,  he  gagged  master  and  man  with 
skill,  tied  them  to  a  tree,  and  then  unfolded  the  plan 
which  the  ekka-driver's  story  had  suggested. 

The  fever  of  rebellion  had  spread  along  the  whole 
of  the  left  bank  of  the  Ganges  as  far  as  Allahabad. 
A  party  of  fugitives  from  Fattehpore  who  had  taken  to  a 
boat  were  pursued,  captured,  and  slain.  Two  girls 
who  had  managed  to  cross  the  river  unseen  were  now 
lodged  in  a  go-down,  or  warehouse,  belonging  to  the 
very  man  whom  chance  had  made  Malcolm's  prisoner. 
He  was  keeping  them  to  curry  favor  with  a  local  rajah 
who  headed  the  outbreak  at  Fattehpore.  It  was  true 
that  there  were  no  boats  left  on  this  side  of  the  river: 
they  were  all  on  the  opposite  bank,  being  loaded  with 
loot,  and  the  two  Englishwomen  were  merely  awaiting 
the  return  of  the  zemindar's  budgerow  to  be  sent  to  a 
fate  worse  than  death. 

Chumru,  a  Mohammedan  himself,  was  not  greatly 
concerned  about  the  misfortunes  of  a  couple  of  women, 
but  he  saw  plainly  that  Malcolm  could  no  more  hope  to 
escape  under  the  present  conditions  than  the  poor  crea- 
tures whose  whereabouts  had  just  become  known.  This 
was  precisely  the  blend  of  intrigue  and  adventure  that 
appealed  to  his  alert  intelligence.  In  wriggling  through 

202 


A  Day's  Adventures 

a  mesh  of  difficulties  he  was  lithe  as  a  snake,  and  the 
proposal  he  now  made  was  certainly  bold  enough  to 
commend  itself  to  the  most  daring. 

He  drew  Malcolm  and  the  trembling  ryot  apart. 

"Listen,  friend,"  said  he  to  the  latter.  "Thou  art, 
indeed,  lost  if  that  fat  hog  sees  thee  again.  He  will 
harry  thee  and  thy  wife  and  all  thy  family  to  death  for 
having  helped  us,  and  it  will  be  in  vain  to  protest  that 
thou  hadst  no  mind  in  the  matter,  for  behold,  thou  didst 
not  lift  a  finger  when  I  threatened  him  with  the  pistol." 

"Protector  of  the  poor,  what  was  one  to  do?" 
whined  the  ryot. 

"I  am  not  thy  protector.  "Tis  the  sahib  here  to 
whom  thou  must  look  for  counsel.  Attend,  now,  and 
I  will  show  thee  a  road  to  safety  and  riches.  Art  thou 
known  to  either  of  those  men  ?  " 

"I  have  not  seen  them  before,  for  I  come  this  way 
but  seldom." 

"'Tis  well.  The  sahib  shall  sit  in  the  ekka,  with 
the  curtains  drawn,  while  I  give  it  out  that  I  go  with 
my  wife  to  take  the  miss-sahibs  across  the  river,  for 
which  purpose  the  worthy  zemindar  will  presently 
hand  us  a  written  order,  as  he  hath  ink,  paper,  and 
pen  in  the  ekka.  Thou  shalt  be  driver  and  come 
with  us  on  the  boat,  and  when  we  are  in  mid-stream, 
and  the  sahib  appears  at  my  signal,  see  that  thou  hast 
a  cudgel  handy  if  it  be  needed.  Then,  when  we  reach 
Allahabad,  God  willing,  the  sahib  will  give  thee  many 
rupees  and  none  will  be  the  wiser.  What  say'st  thou  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  poor  man  —  " 

203 


The  Red  Year 

"Ay,  keep  to  that.  'Tis  ever  a  safe  answer.  Do 
you  like  my  notion,  sahib  ?  Otherwise,  we  must  take 
our  chance  and  wander  in  the  jungle." 

The  fact  that  Chumru's  scheme  included  the  rescue 
of  the  unhappy  girls  imprisoned  in  the  go-down  caused 
Malcolm  to  approve  it  without  reserve.  The  zemin- 
dar's gag  was  removed  and  he  was  asked  his  name. 

*Hossein  Beg,"  said  he. 

"Be  assured,  then,"  said  Malcolm,  sternly,  "that 
thy  life  depends  on  the  fulfilment  of  the  instructions  I 
now  require  of  thee.  See  to  it,  therefore,  that  they  are 
written  in  such  wise  as  to  insure  success,  and  I,  for  my 
part,  promise  to  send  thee  succor  ere  night  falls.  Write 
on  this  tablet  that  the  miss-sahibs  are  to  be  delivered 
to  the  charge  of  Rissaldar  Ali  Khan  and  his  wife,  for 
conveyance  to  Fattehpore,  and  bid  thy  servants  help 
the  rissaldar  in  every  possible  way.  Believe  me,  if 
aught  miscarries  in  this  matter,  thou  shalt  rot  to  death 
in  thy  bonds." 

"Let  my  servant  go  with  your  honor,  so  that  all 
things  may  be  done  according  to  your  honor's  wishes." 

"  What  then  ?  Wouldst  thou  juggle  with  the  favor 
I  have  shown  thee  ?  " 

This  time  the  sword  impinged  on  the  Adam's  apple 
in  Hossein  Beg's  throat,  and  he  shrank  as  far  as  his 
bonds  would  permit. 

"Say  not  so,  Khudawand,"  *  he  gurgled.  "I  swear 
by  my  father's  bones  I  meant  no  ill." 

"Mayhap.     Nevertheless,  I  shall  take  care  thy  in- 
1  Master. 
204 


A  Day's  Adventures 

tent  is  honest,  Hossein  Beg.  Write  now  and  pay 
heed  to  thy  words,  else  jackals  shall  rend  thee  ere 
to-morrow's  dawn." 

By  this  time  the  man  was  reduced  to  a  state  of  abject 
submission.  Possibly  his  offer  of  the  ekka-wallah's 
services  was  made  in  good  faith,  but  Malcolm  liked 
the  looks  of  the  man  as  little  as  he  liked  the  looks  of 
his  master,  and  he  preferred  to  trust  to  Chumru's 
nimble  wits  rather  than  the  stupid  contriving  of  a 
peasant,  no  matter  how  willing  the  latter  might  be. 

The  zemindar,  having  written,  was  gagged  again, 
and  the  pair  were  left  to  that  torture  of  silence  and 
doubt  they  had  not  scrupled  to  inflict  on  those  who  had 
done  them  no  wrong.  They  were  tied  to  a  tree-trunk 
in  the  heart  of  a  clump,  and  a  hundred  men  might 
pass  in  that  lonely  place  without  discovering  them, 
whereas  Hossein  Beg  and  his  subordinate  could  see 
easily  enough  through  the  leafy  screen  that  enveloped 
their  open-air  prison. 

Half  an  hour  later,  Hossein  Beg's  ekka  arrived  on 
the  open  space  that  adjoined  the  village  ghat.  At  one 
end  was  a  mosque  —  at  the  other  a  temple.  In  the 
center,  at  a  little  distance  from  the  bank,  was  a  square 
modern  building,  evidently  the  warehouse  in  which 
the  English  ladies  were  pent. 

With  the  ekka  came  a  rissaldar  of  cavalry,  riding  one 
horse  and  leading  two  others.  When  he  dismounted 
a  scabbard  clattered  at  his  heels,  for  Malcolm  now  had 
the  pistols  between  his  knees  as  he  sat  behind  the 
tightly  drawn  curtains  of  the  vehicle. 

205 


The  Red  Year 

"  Mohammed  Rasul ! "  shouted  the  rissaldar,  loudly. 
"  Where  is  Mohammed  Rasul  ?  I  must  discourse  with 
him  instantly." 

A  man  came  running. 

"Ohe,  sirdar,"  he  cried.     "Behold,  I  come!" 

A  note  was  thrust  into  the  runner's  hands. 

"Read,  and  quickly,"  was  the  imperious  order. 
'*  I  have  affairs  at  Fattehpore  and  cannot  wait  here  long. 
Is  there  a  boat  to  be  hired  ?  " 

"  A  budgerow  is  even  now  approaching,  leader  of  the 
faithful." 

"Good.  There  is  some  disposition  to  be  made  of 
two  Feringhi  women.  Read  that  which  Hossein  Beg 
hath  written,  and  make  haste,  I  pray  thee,  brother." 

Perhaps  Mohammed  Rasul  wondered  why  his  em- 
ployer wrote  in  such  imploring  strain  that  he  was  to 
obey  the  worshipful  "Ali  Khan's"  slightest  word,  and 
bestow  him  and  his  belongings,  together  with  the  two 
prisoners,  on  board  a  boat  for  Fattehpore  with  the 
utmost  speed.  However  that  may  be,  he  lost  no  time. 
The  budgerow  was  warped  close  to  the  ghat,  her  con- 
tents, mostly  European  furniture,  as  Malcolm  could 
see  through  a  fold  in  the  curtain,  were  promptly  un- 
loaded, and  preparations  made  for  the  return  journey. 
First,  the  horses  were  led  on  board  and  secured.  Then 
two  pallid  girls,  only  half  clothed,  their  eyes  red  with 
weeping  and  their  cheeks  haggard  with  misery,  were 
led  from  the  go-down. 

"  Ali  Khan  "  was  about  to  guide  the  ekka  along  the 
rough  gangway  when  Mohammed  Rasul  interfered. 

206 


A  Day's  Adventures 

"My  master  says  naught  concerning  the  ekka  and 
pony,"  said  he.  "He  hath  detained  Gopi,  and  this 
driver  is  unknown  to  me.  Who  will  bring  them  back 
when  they  have  served  your  needs,  sirdar  ?  " 

"I  will  attend  to  that,"  replied  Chumru,  gruffly,  and 
Hossein  Beg's  factotum  had  perforce  to  be  content  with 
the  undertaking. 

But  fate,  which  had  certainly  favored  Malcolm  and 
his  native  comrade  thus  far,  played  them  what  looked 
like  a  jade's  trick  at  the  very  moment  when  success 
was  within  their  grasp.  The  ekka  pony,  frightened  by 
the  lap  of  the  swift-flowing  water  against  the  steps 
beneath,  shied,  backed,  and  strove  to  reach  the  shore. 
Not  all  Chumru's  wiry  strength,  aided  by  the  alarmed 
ryot,  could  prevent  the  brute  from  turning.  A  wheel 
slipped  off  the  staging,  the  narrow  vehicle  toppled  over, 
and  the  amazed  spectators  saw  a  booted  and  spurred 
British  officer  of  cavalry  sprawling  on  the  ghat  instead 
of  the  veiled  Mohammedan  woman  who  ought  to  have 
made  her  appearance  in  this  undignified  manner. 

Malcolm  was  on  his  feet  in  a  second. 

"Come  on,  Chumru!"  he  cried,  as  he  leaped  on 
board  the  budgerow.  He  saw  one  of  the  crew  take  an 
extra  turn  of  a  rope  round  a  cat-head,  and  fired  at  him. 
Hit  or  miss,  the  fellow  tumbled  overboard,  and  his 
mates  followed.  Chumru,  assisted  by  the  ryot,  who 
elected  at  this  twelfth  hour  to  throw  in  his  lot  with  that 
of  the  sahib,  began  to  cast  off  the  cables.  Even  the 
two  dazed  girls  helped,  once  they  knew  that  an  English- 
man was  fighting  in  their  behalf. 

207 


The  Red  Year 

To  add  to  the  excitement  on  shore  Malcolm  fired  the 
second  pistol  at  the  men  nearest  to  the  boat,  which  was 
already  beginning  to  slip  away  with  the  current.  Then 
he  rushed  to  the  helm,  unlashed  it,  and  turned  the 
boat's  head  toward  the  channel,  while  Chumru  and 
the  ryot,  helped  by  the  girls,  hauled  at  the  heavy  mat 
sail. 

Having  lashed  the  helm  again  in  order  to  keep  the 
budgerow  on  the  starboard  tack,  Malcolm  was  about 
to  lend  a  hand,  despite  his  wound,  when  a  spurt  of 
firing  from  the  bank  took  him  by  surprise,  because  he 
had  seen  neither  gun  nor  pistol  in  the  hands  of  the 
loungers  on  the  ghat,  and  the  coolies  were  certainly 
unarmed. 

Glancing  back  he  saw  a  man  whom  he  had  last  seen 
in  the  moulvie's  company  at  Rai  Bareilly  gesticulating 
fiercely  as  he  directed  the  target  practise  of  a  number 
of  men.  A  group  of  lathered  horses  behind  them 
showed  that  they  had  ridden  far  and  fast,  so  the  acci- 
dent, which  nearly  led  to  his  undoing,  had  really  helped 
to  save  him  and  his  companions,  else  the  fusillade  to 
which  they  were  now  subjected  must  have  taken  place 
while  the  boat  was  still  tied  to  the  wharf. 

"Lie  flat  on  the  deck,"  he  shouted  in  English,  and 
repeated  the  words  in  Hindustani.  He  flung  himself 
down  by  Chumru 's  side. 

"Haul  away!"  he  gasped.  "We  will  soon  be  out  of 
range." 

Thus  while  the  cumbrous  sail  creaked  and  groaned 
as  it  slowly  climbed  the  mast,  and  bullets  cut  through 

208 


A  Day's  Adventures 

the  matting  or  were  imbedded  in  the  stout  woodwork, 
the  latest  argosy  of  Malcolm's  fortunes  thrust  herself 
with  ever-increasing  speed  into  the  ample  breast  of 
Mother  Ganga.  Soon  the  firing  ceased.  Malcolm 
raised  his  head.  The  excited  mob  on  the  shore  was 
already  a  horde  of  Lilliputians,  and  the  placid  swish  of 
the  river  around  the  roomy  craft  told  him  that  he  was 
actually  free,  and  on  the  way  to  Allahabad  once  more. 


209 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE   SWING   OF  THE   PENDULUM 

MALCOLM'S  first  measured  thought  was  an  un- 
pleasant one.  It  was  his  intent  to  land  one  of  the 
budgerow's  crew  at  the  earliest  opportunity  with  a 
written  message,  which  the  bearer  would  probably  be 
unable  to  read,  addressed  to  Mohammed  Rasul,  bid- 
ding him  go  to  the  assistance  of  the  unlucky  Hossein 
Beg.  That  plan  was  now  impracticable.  The  crew 
had  bolted.  He  could  neither  send  the  ryot  ashore 
nor  trust  to  the  help  of  any  neighboring  village,  since 
men  were  already  galloping  along  the  left  bank  with 
obviously  hostile  designs. 

As  there  was  a  favorable  breeze  and  the  current  was 
swift  and  strong,  he  wondered  why  these  pursuers 
strove  to  keep  the  boat  in  sight.  Then  it  was  borne 
in  on  him  that  they  had  a  definite  object.  Could  it 
be  possible  that  they  knew  of  the  presence  of  other 
craft,  lower  down  the  river  ?  —  that  he  might  be  called 
on  within  the  hour  to  make  a  last  stand  against  irre- 
sistible odds  on  the  deck  of  the  budgerow?  Rather 
than  meet  certain  death  in  that  way  he  would  head 
boldly  for  the  opposite  shore,  and  trust  again  to  his 
tired  horses  for  escape  to  the  jungle  and  the  night. 

210 


The  Swing  of  the  Pendulum 

Yet,  some  plan  must  be  devised  to  keep  faith  with  that 
wretched  zemindar.  The  man  would  not  die  if  left 
where  he  was  for  another  forty-eight  hours,  or  even 
longer.  But  the  word  of  a  sahib  was  a  sacred  thing. 
Whatever  the  difficulty  of  communicating  with  Mo- 
hammed Rasul,  he  must  overcome  it  somehow. 

In  his  perplexity,  his  eyes  fell  on  the  two  girls.  Being 
ladies  from  Fyzabad,  they  might  be  able  to  help  him 
with  some  knowledge  of  the  locality.  Summoning 
Chumru  to  take  the  helm  he  went  forward  and  spoke 
to  them. 

Now  it  is  an  enduring  fact  that  a  woman's  regard 
for  her  personal  appearance  will  engross  her  mind 
when  graver  topics  might  well  be  to  the  fore.  No 
sooner  did  these  sorrow-laden  daughters  of  Eve  realize 
that  they  were  in  a  position  of  comparative  safety,  and 
in  the  company  of  a  good-looking  young  man  of  their 
own  race,  than  they  attempted  to  effect  some  change 
in  their  toilette.  A  handkerchief  dipped  in  the  river, 
a  few  twists  and  ceilings  of  refractory  hair,  a  slight 
readjustment  of  disordered  bodices  and  crumpled 
skirts  —  above  all,  the  gleam  of  the  magic  lamp  of 
hope  that  illumined  an  abyss  of  despair  —  and  the 
amazing  result  was  that  Malcolm  found  two  pretty, 
shy,  tremulous  maidens  awaiting  him,  instead  of  the 
disheveled  woe-begone  women  he  had  seen  pushed 
down  the  steps  of  the  ghat. 

He  introduced  himself  with  the  well-mannered 
courtesy  of  the  period,  and  in  response  the  elder  of 
the  pair  raised  her  blue  eyes  to  his  and  told  him  that 

211 


The  Red  Year 

since  the  16th  of  June  until  the  previous  day  they  had 
been  hiding  in  the  hut  of  a  native  woman,  mother  of 
their  ayah. 

"My  dear  father  was  killed  by  Mr.  Tucker's  side," 
said  she.  "He  was  the  deputy  commissioner  of  Fat- 
tehpore.  Keene  is  our  name  —  I  am  Harriet,  this  is 
my  sister  Grace.  We  only  came  out  from  England 
last  cold  weather — " 

A  sudden  recollection  brought  a  cry  of  surprise  from 
Frank. 

"Why,"  he  said,  "you  were  fellow-passengers  on 
the  Assaye  with  Miss  Winifred  Mayne?" 

"  Yes,  do  you  know  her  ?  What  has  become  of  her  ? 
We  were  told  that  everyone  at  Meerut  was  killed." 

"Thank  Heaven,  she  was  alive  and  well  when  I  last 
saw  her  three  days  ago." 

"  And  her  uncle  ?  Is  he  living  ?  She  was  very  much 
attached  to  him.  How  did  she  escape  from  Meerut  ?  " 
broke  in  Grace,  eagerly. 

"  I  wish  they  had  never  left  Meerut.  The  Mutiny 
at  that  station  collapsed  in  a  couple  of  hours.  Un- 
fortunately they  are  now  both  penned  up  in  the  Resi- 
dency at  Lucknow,  which  is  surrounded  by  goodness 
only  knows  how  many  thousands  of  rebels.  But  I 
must  give  you  Winifred's  recent  history  at  another 
time.  I  want  you  to  tell  me  something  about  this 
neighborhood.  What  is  the  nearest  town  on  the  river, 
and  which  bank  is  it  on  ?  " 

"Unfortunately,  our  acquaintance  with  this  part  of 
India  is  very  slight,"  said  Miss  Harriet  Keene,  sadly. 

212 


The  Swing  of  the  Pendulum 

"  We  remained  at  Calcutta  four  months  with  our 
mother,  who  died  there,  without  having  seen  our  dear 
father  after  a  separation  of  five  years.  We  came  up 
country  in  March,  and  were  going  to  Naini  Tal l  when 
the  Mutiny  broke  out.  We  only  saw  the  Ganges  three 
or  four  times  before  our  ayah  brought  us  across  on  that 
terrible  night  when  father  was  murdered." 

Malcolm  had  heard  many  such  tensely  dramatic 
stories  from  fugitives  who  had  reached  Lucknow  during 
July.  Phrases  of  pity  or  consolation  were  powerless 
in  face  of  these  tragedies.  But  he  could  not  forbear 
asking  one  question : 

"  Row  did  you  come  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  Hossein 


'  Ve  were  betrayed  by  some  children,"  was  the 
sim  Je  answer.  "  They  saw  our  ayah's  mother  baking 
chupatties,  day  by  day,  sufficient  for  four  people. 
My  mister  and  I  u'ved  nearly  three  weeks  in  a  cow- 
byre,  never  daring,  of  course,  to  approach  even  the 
door.  The  children  made  some  talk  about  the  lavish 
food  supply  in  the  old  woman's  hut,  and  the  story 
reached  the  ears  of  their  father.  He,  like  all  the  other 
natives  here,  seems  to  hate  Europeans  as  though  they 
were  his  deadliest  enemies.  He  spied  on  us,  discovered 
our  whereabouts,  and  yesterday  morning  we  were 
dragged  forth,  while  the  poor  creatures  to  whom  we 
owed  our  lives  were  beaten  to  death  with  sticks  before 
our  very  eyes." 

The  speaker  was  a  fair  English  girl  of  twenty.     Her 
1  A  hill  station  near  Lucknow. 
213 


The  Red  Year 

sister  was  eighteen,  and  their  previous  experience 
of  the  storm  and  fret  of  existence  was  drawn 
from  an  uneventful  childhood  in  India,  four  years 
in  a  Brighton  school,  and  a  twelvemonth  in  a  Brussels 
convent ! 

Malcolm  choked  back  the  hard  words  that  rose  to 
his  lips,  and  sought  such  local  information  as  the  ryot 
could  give  him.  It  was  little.  The  tiller  of  the  Indian 
fields  lives  and  dies  in  his  village  and  has  no  interests 
beyond  the  horizon.  This  man  visited  the  Ganges 
once  a  year  on  a  religious  feast,  and  perhaps  twice  in 
the  same  period  in  connection  with  the  shipping  of 
grain  on  his  brother's  boat.  To  that  extent,  but  no 
further,  did  his  store  of  general  knowledge  pass  be- 
yond the  narrower  limits  of  those  who  dwelt  far  from 
a  river  highway. 

Yet  it  was  he  who  first  espied  a  new  and  most  active 
peril. 

"Look,  huzoor,"  he  cried  suddenly.  "They  have 
made  signs  to  the  Fattehpore  ghat.  Two  boats  are 
following  us." 

And  then  Malcolm  found  that  the  real  danger  came 
from  the  opposite  shore.  It  was  a  case  of  falling  on 
Scylla  when  trying  to  avoid  Charybdis.  He  learnt 
afterwards  that  the  rebels  had  organized  a  code  of 
signals  from  bank  to  bank,  owing  to  the  number  of 
the  craft  with  Europeans  on  board  that  sought  safety  in 
flight  down  the  river.  That  some  device  must  have 
drawn  pursuit  from  the  right  bank  was  obvious.  A 
couple  of  roomy  budgerows  with  sails  set  were  racing 

214 


The  Swing  of  the  Pendulum 

after  him,  and  the  long  sweeps  on  board  each  boat 
were  being  propelled  by  willing  arms. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  a  feeling  of  bitter 
resentment  against  this  last  stroke  of  ill-luck  rose 
in  Malcolm's  breast  for  an  instant.  He  conquered 
it.  He  recalled  Lawrence's  bold  advice,  "Never 
Surrender,"  and  that  inspiriting  memory  brought 
strength. 

At  that  point  the  Ganges  was  about  a  mile  and  a 
quarter  in  width.  The  budgerow  was  some  six  hun- 
dred yards  distant  from  the  left  bank.  Three  miles 
ahead  the  river  curved  to  the  left  round  a  steep  promon- 
tory. The  farther  shore  was  marsh-land,  so  it  might 
be  assumed  that  a  hidden  barrier  of  rock  flung  off  the 
deep  current  there,  while  the  one  chance  of  escape 
that  presented  itself  was  to  steer  for  that  very  spot  and 
effect  a  landing  before  the  enemy  could  head  off  the 
budgerow  and  force  it  under  the  fire  of  the  horsemen. 
The  Fattehpore  boats  were  a  mile  in  the  rear,  but  that 
advantage  would  be  greatly  lessened  if  Malcolm  crossed 
the  stream,  and  perhaps  altogether  effaced  by  the 
powerful  sweeps  at  their  command. 

However,  to  cross  was  the  only  way,  and  the  only 
way  is  ever  the  best  way.  Having  once  made  up  his 
mind  Frank  coolly  reviewed  the  situation.  Food  was 
the  first  essential.  The  boat  itself,  having  been  used 
for  carrying  hay,  contained  sufficient  sweepings  to  feed 
the  horses,  and  he  set  the  ryot  to  work  on  gathering 
the  odds  and  ends  of  forage.  A  brief  search  brought 
to  light  a  quantity  of  ghee,  boiled  rice  and  dried  peas. 

215 


The  Red  Year 

He  divided  the  store  into  five  portions,  and  set  a  good 
example  to  the  others  by  compelling  himself  to  eat  his 
share  of  the  cooked  food  at  once,  while  the  peas  went 
into  his  pockets  to  be  crushed  or  chewed  at  leisure. 

Chumru  kept  the  budgerow  steadily  on  her  course, 
and  ere  many  minutes  elapsed  it  was  plain  to  be  seen 
that  the  rebels  were  alive  to  the  tactics  of  their  quarry. 
Fresh  gangs  manned  the  sweeps  and  the  riders  on  the 
eastern  bank  eased  their  pace  to  a  walk.  The  space 
between  pursuers  and  pursued  began  to  decrease.  At 
the  outset  Frank  thought  that  this  was  the  natural 
outcome  of  his  plan,  and  gave  no  heed  to  it  beyond  the 
ever-growing  anxiety  of  the  time  problem.  But  at  the 
end  of  the  first  mile  he  was  seriously  concerned  at 
finding  that  the  mutineers  were  gaining  on  him  in  an 
incomprehensible  manner.  The  boat  was  then  seem- 
ingly in  mid-stream,  while  the  enemy  kept  close  to  the 
shore,  and  they  were  certainly  traveling  half  as  fast 
again,  a  difference  in  speed  that  the  use  of  the  oars 
hardly  accounted  for. 

He  kept  on  grimly,  however,  never  deviating  from 
his  perspective,  which  was  the  swampy  ground  on  the 
outer  curve  of  the  bend.  It  was  not  until  nearly  an- 
other mile  was  covered  and  the  mutineers  were  almost 
abreast  in  the  true  line  of  the  river,  that  he  knew  why 
they  were  making  such  heart-breaking  progress  as 
compared  with  his  own  craft.  The  Ganges,  after  the 
vagrom  fashion  of  all  giant  rivers,  was  cutting  a  new 
bed  through  the  sunken  reefs  towards  the  low-lying 
marsh.  At  the  wide  elbow  there  were  really  two 

216 


The  Swing  of  the  Pendulum 

channels  and  he  was  now  sailing  along  the  compara- 
tively motionless  water  between  them! 

Side  by  side  with  this  terrifying  discovery  was  the 
certain  fact  that  his  awkwardly  built  craft  would  gain 
little  by  maneuvering.  There  was  a  new  danger,  too. 
At  any  instant  she  might  run  ashore  on  the  shoal  that 
was  surely  forming  in  the  center  of  the  river.  At  all 
costs  that  must  be  avoided. 

With  a  smile  and  a  few  confident  words  to  the  girls, 
he  went  aft,  took  the  helm  from  Chumru  and  bade 
him  help  the  ryot  in  putting  out  the  port  sweep.  The 
effect  was  quickly  apparent.  The  budgerow  ran  into 
the  second  channel,  but  she  allowed  her  dangerous 
rivals  to  approach  so  close  that  the  natives  opened  fire 
with  long  range  dropping  shots. 

It  was  now  a  matter  of  minutes  ere  the  rebel 
marksmen  would  render  the  deck  uninhabitable. 
To  beach  the  boat,  land  the  horses,  and  get  the 
young  ladies  ashore  in  safety,  had  become  an  ab- 
solute impossibility.  Then  it  occurred  to  Frank  that 
the  Fattehpore  men  could  not  know  for  certain 
that  there  were  English-women  on  board.  They 
could  see  Chumru,  the  ryot,  the  horses,  and  of  course, 
the  steersman,  but  the  girls  were  seated  in  the  well 
amidships,  these  river  craft  being  only  partly  decked 
fore  and  aft. 

A  modification  of  his  scheme  flashed  through  his 
brain,  and  he  decided  to  adopt  it  forthwith.  First 
asking  Miss  Keene  and  her  sister  not  to  reveal  their 
presence,  no  matter  what  happened,  he  told  Chumru 

217 


The  Red  Year 

to  stand  by  the  horses  and  help  him  to  make  them  leap 
into  the  water  when  he  gave  the  order.  With  difficulty 
he  induced  the  scared  ryot  to  take  the  rudder  while  he 
explained  the  new  project.  It  had  that  element  of 
daring  in  it  that  is  worthy  of  success,  being  nothing 
less  than  an  attempt  to  draw  the  rebels'  attention 
entirely  to  himself  and  Chumru  by  making  a  dash  for 
the  shore,  while  the  ryot  was  to  allow  the  boat  to  con- 
tinue her  course  down  stream  with,  apparently,  no 
other  tenant  than  himself. 

Malcolm's  theory  was  that,  if  he  and  Chumru  made 
good  their  landing,  they  would  hug  the  river  until  the 
budgerow  was  sufficiently  ahead  of  pursuit  to  permit 
of  her  being  run  ashore.  Though  the  plan  savored 
of  deserting  the  helpless  girls,  yet  was  he  strong-minded 
enough  to  adopt  it.  It  substituted  a  forlorn  hope  for 
imminent  and  unavoidable  death  or  capture,  and  it 
gave  one  last  avenue  of  achievement  to  the  mission  on 
which  he  had  come  from  Lucknow. 

At  the  final  moment  he  communicated  it  to  the  two 
sisters.  They  agreed  to  abide  by  his  decision,  and  the 
elder  one  said  with  a  calm  serenity  that  lent  to  her 
words  the  symbolism  of  a  prayer: 

"  We  are  all  in  God's  hands,  Mr.  Malcolm.  Whether 
we  live  or  die  we  are  assured  that  you  have  done  and 
will  do  all  that  lies  in  the  power  of  a  Christian  gentle- 
man to  save  us." 

"I  don't  like  leaving  you,"  he  murmured,  "but  our 
only  weapons  are  a  sword  and  a  brace  of  empty  pistols. 
If  we  run  on  another  half  mile  we  shall  be  shot  down 

218 


The  Swing  of  the  Pendulum 

where  we  stand  without  any  means  of  defending  our- 
selves. On  the  other  hand  — " 

Then  the  budgerow  struck  a  submerged  rock  with  a 
violence  that  must  have  pitched  him  overboard  were 
he  not  holding  Nejdi's  headstall  at  the  moment.  She 
careened  so  badly  that  the  girls  shrieked  and  Malcolm 
himself  thought  she  would  turn  turtle.  But  she  swung 
clear,  righted  herself,  and  lay  broadside  on  to  the 
current.  Another  crash,  less  violent  but  even  more 
disastrous,  tore  away  the  rudder  and  wrenched  the 
spar  pulley  out  of  the  top  of  the  mast.  The  heavy 
sail  fell  of  course,  but  by  some  miracle  left  the  occu- 
pants of  the  boat  uninjured. 

And  now  the  maimed  craft  was  carried  along  slug- 
gishly, drifting  back  towards  the  center  of  the  river, 
while  the  men  in  the  other  boats  set  up  a  fiendish  yell 
of  delight  at  the  catastrophe  that  had  overtaken  the 
doomed  Feringhis.  Their  skilled  boatmen  evidently 
knew  of  this  reef.  They  stood  away  towards  the  shore, 
but  the  triumphant  jeering  that  came  from  the  crowded 
decks  showed  that  they  meant  to  pass  their  dismantled 
quarry  and  wait  in  safer  waters  until  it  lumbered  down 
upon  them. 

Malcolm  suddenly  became  aware  of  his  wounded 
arm.  With  a  curious  fatalism  he  began  to  dissect  his 
emotions.  He  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  the  drop 
from  the  nervous  tension  of  hope  to  the  relaxation  of 
sheer  despair  had  dulled  his  brain  and  weakened  his 
physical  powers.  This,  then,  was  the  end.  There 
could  be  no  doubt  about  it.  He  quieted  the  startled 

219 


The  Red  Year 

horses  with  a  word  or  two  and  spoke  to  the  girls 
again. 

"You  may  as  well  come  on  deck  now,"  he  said. 
"It  is  all  up  with  us.  If  a  friendly  bullet  puts  us  out 
of  our  misery,  so  much  the  better.  Otherwise  my 
advice  to  you  both  is  to  leap  into  the  river  rather  than 
be  recaptured." 

Grace  was  sobbing  hysterically,  but  Harriet,  clasping 
her  fondly  in  her  arms,  looked  up  at  him. 

"No,"  she  said,  "we  must  not  do  that.  Our  lives 
are  not  our  own.  The  Lord  gave  and  the  Lord  taketh 
away.  Blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord ! " 

Frank  winced  in  his  anguish.  To  a  puissant  man 
there  is  nothing  so  galling  as  helplessness;  what  a  game 
of  battledore  and  shuttlecock  had  been  played  with 
him  and  those  bound  up  with  his  fortunes  since  the 
moulvie's  man-trap  brought  him  headlong  to  the 
earth  in  the  main  street  of  Rai  Bareilly! 

"Huzoor!"  yelled  Chumru,  excitedly.  "Look! 
There  below!  A  smoke  ship!  And  see!  Those  sons 
of  pigs  are  making  for  the  bank ! " 

Malcolm  could  scarce  believe  his  eyes  when  they 
rested  on  a  small  steamer  with  the  British  flag  flying 
from  the  masthead,  coming  round  the  bend.  Yet 
there  could  be  no  mistake  about  it.  British  officers  in 
white  uniforms  were  standing  on  her  bridge,  the  muz- 
zles of  a  couple  of  guns  showed  black  and  business-like 
over  her  bows,  while  her  forward  deck  was  packed 
with  men  in  the  uniform  of  the  Madras  Fusiliers.  Her 
commander  seemed  to  take  in  the  exact  position  of 

220 


The  Swing  of  the  Pendulum 

affairs  at  a  glance,  and,  indeed,  the  half-wrecked  and 
almost  empty  boat  in  mid-stream,  so  eagerly  followed 
by  two  thickly  crowded  craft  now  close  hauled  and 
putting  forth  desperate  efforts  to  reach  the  bank,  pre- 
sented a  riddle  easy  to  read. 

That  twinge  of  pain  quitted  Frank's  arm  as  speedily 
as  it  had  made  its  presence  felt.  He  helped  the  girls 
to  the  raised  deck,  so  that  the  people  on  the  steamer 
could  see  them.  It  was  not  necessary.  An  officer 
waved  a  hand  to  them  as  the  sturdy  little  vessel  dashed 
past,  raising  a  mighty  spume  of  white  froth  with  her 
paddles,  and  soon  her  guns  were  busy.  There  was  no 
question  of  quarter.  Captain  Spurgin  had  been  with 
Neill  at  Allahabad.  He  knew  the  story  of  Massacre 
Ghat,  of  Delhi,  of  Sitapur,  Moradabad,  Bareilly,  and 
a  score  of  other  stations  in  Oudh  and  the  Northwest. 
His  gunners  pelted  the  unwieldy  budgerows  with  round 
shot  until  they  began  to  sink.  Then  he  used  grape 
and  rifle  fire,  until  five  minutes  after  the  Warren  Has- 
tings came  on  the  scene,  there  was  nought  left  of  the 
Fattehpore  navy  save  some  shattered  wreckage  and  a 
few  wretches  who  strove  to  swim  amidst  a  hail  of  lead 
and  in  a  river  infested  with  crocodiles. 

When  the  steamer  dropped  down  stream  and  picked 
up  the  fugitives,  Malcolm  learnt  that  Spurgin  was 
co-operating  with  Renaud.  The  one  cleared  the 
river,  the  other  was  hanging  men  on  nearly  every 
tree  that  lined  the  Grand  Trunk  Road.  And 
Havelock,  nobly  aided  by  Neill,  was  moving  heaven 
and  earth  to  equip  a  strong  force  at  Allahabad  to 

221 


The  Red  Year 

avenge  Cawnpore  and  raise  the  expected  siege  of 
Lucknow. 

As  Malcolm  himself  brought  the  earliest  news  of  the 
investment,  he  and  Chumru  were  put  ashore  with  a 
small  escort,  in  order  that  they  might  join  Major 
Renaud's  column,  and  hurry  to  Havelock  with  his 
thrilling  tidings.  Spurgin  promised  to  visit  the  village 
on  the  east  bank,  release  Hossein  Beg,  and  make  him 
a  hostage  for  the  ryot's  welfare.  As  for  Harriet  and 
Grace  Keene,  they  would  be  sent  south  as  soon  as  a 
carriage  could  be  procured. 

The  two  girls  bade  Frank  farewell  with  a  gratitude 
which  was  embarrassing,  but  Grace,  more  mercurial 
than  Harriet,  ventured  to  say: 

"I  suppose  you  are  longing  to  see  Winifred  again, 
Mr.  Malcolm?" 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  well  knowing  the  thought  that  lay 
behind  the  words.  "You  are  her  friend,  so  there  is 
no  reason  why  I  should  not  tell  you  that  she  is  my 
promised  wife." 

"Then  you  are  both  to  be  congratulated,"  put  in 
the  elder  sister,  "for  she  is  quite  the  most  charming 
girl  we  know,  and  our  opinion  of  you  is  not  likely  to 
be  a  poor  one  after  to-day's  experiences." 

"  What  ?     After  an  hour's  acquaintance  ?  " 

"An  hour!  There  are  some  hours  that  are  half  a 
lifetime.  Good-by,  may  Heaven  guard  and  watch 
over  you ! " 

Renaud  despatched  Lawrence's  messenger  to  the 
south  in  a  dak-gharry,  or  post-carriage.  Chumru 


The  Swing  of  the  Pendulum 

would  have  taken  the  servant's  usual  perch  beside  the 
driver,  but  Malcolm  would  not  hear  of  it.  His  faithful 
attendant  was  almost  as  worn  with  fatigue  as  he  him- 
self; master  and  man  shared  the  comfort  of  the  roomy 
vehicle;  and  slept  for  many  hours  while  it  rumbled 
along  the  road. 

At  dawn  on  the  4th  of  July  they  entered  Allahabad. 
But  the  driver  had  his  orders  and  did  not  stop  in  the 
city.  They  passed  through  a  sullen  bazaar,  and  were 
gazed  at  by  a  mob  that  wore  the  aspect  of  a  cageful  of 
tigers  in  which  order  has  just  been  induced  by  the 
liberal  use  of  red-hot  irons.  The  travelers  were  nod- 
ding asleep  again  when  the  sharp  summons  of  a  British 
sentry  gladdened  Malcolm's  ears. 

"Who  goes  there?" 

How  alert  it  sounded!  How  reminiscent  of  the  old 
days!  How  full  of  promise  of  the  days  that  were  to 
come! 

He  leaned  out  and  smiled  as  he  told  a  stolid  private 
of  the  64th  that  he  was  "a  friend."  His  uniform 
acted  as  a  passport,  the  dak-gharry  crossed  the  draw- 
bridge and  crept  through  a  narrow  tunnel,  and  he 
found  himself  standing  in  the  great  inner  parade- 
ground  of  the  fort.  A  young  officer  approached. 

"Do  you  wish  to  see  the  General?  Whom  shall  I 
report?"  he  asked,  eyeing  the  worn  appearance  and 
torn  and  blood-stained  uniforms  of  Englishman  and 
native. 

"I  am  from  Lucknow,"  said  Frank.  "Will  you 
kindly  tell  General  Havelock  that  Captain  Malcolm 

223 


The  Red  Year 

of  the  3d  Cavalry  has   brought  him  a  message  from 
Sir  Henry  Lawrence  ?  " 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  described  himself  by  his 
new  rank.  It  sent  a  pleasant  tingle  through  his  veins 
and  made  that  injured  arm  of  his  ache  again.  Law- 
rence had  given  him  to  the  4th,  and  here  he  was  in 
Allahabad  on  the  very  date  of  his  Chief's  reckoning, 
after  having  gone  through  adventures  that  would  have 
satiated  Ulysses. 

But  the  pardonable  pride  of  a  young  and  gallant 
soldier  soon  yielded  an  inexplicable  sensation  of  hu- 
mility when  he  was  brought  before  a  small,  slender, 
erect  man,  gray-haired,  eagle-nosed,  with  strangely 
bright  and  piercing  eyes,  and  a  mouth  habitually  set 
in  a  thin,  straight  line.  This  was  Sir  Henry  Havelock, 
and  Frank  felt  instantly  that  he  was  in  the  presence  of 
one  who  lived  in  a  world  apart  from  his  fellows.  And, 
in  truth,  Havelock  would  have  been  better  understood 
by  Cromwell's  Ironsides  than  by  his  own  generation. 
He  was  outside  the  ordinary  run  of  mankind.  Though 
aware  of  a  natural  timidity,  he  fought  with  and  con- 
quered it  until  his  soldiers  refused  to  believe  that 
Havelock  knew  what  fear  was.  Conscious  of  his  own 
military  genius  he  had  borne  without  comment  or 
complaint  a  constant  supersession  by  inferiors,  and  in 
an  age  when  levity  of  thought  and  manners  among 
officers  was  often  looked  upon  as  the  hall-mark  of  dis- 
tinguished social  position,  he  lost  no  opportunity  of 
giving  his  men  religious  instruction,  while  every  act 
of  his  life  was  governed  by  a  stern  sense  of  duty. 

224 


The  Swing  of  the  Pendulum 

Such  was  the  man  who  listened  to  Malcolm's  account 
of  the  proceedings  which  led  up  to  the  disastrous 
battle  of  Chinhut. 

"You  say  you  rode  straight  from  the  field  on  the 
evening  of  the  30th,"  said  he,  when  Frank  had  deliv- 
ered his  message  of  Lucknow's  plight.  "  How  did  you 
travel,  and  in  what  state  did  you  find  the  country  you 
traversed?" 

Then  Frank  told  him  all  that  had  taken  place. 
More  than  once  the  young  officer  would  have  cut  short 
the  recital,  but  this  Havelock  would  not  permit.  His 
son  was  present,  that  younger  Havelock  who  lived  for 
forty  years  to  keep  ever  in  the  public  memory  a  glorious 
name,  and  often  the  father  would  turn  towards  him 
and  punctuate  Malcolm's  tale  with  a  nod,  or  a  brief, 
"  Do  you  hear  that,  Harry  ?  " 

At  last,  the  stirring  chronicle  was  ended. 

"Do  you  wish  to  remain  here  and  recuperate,  or 
will  you  join  my  staff,  with  the  rank  of  Major  ?  "  asked 
Havelock. 

Malcolm  was  hardly  able  to  stammer  his  acceptance 
of  the  appointment  thus  offered,  but  the  General  had 
no  time  for  useless  talk. 

"About  this  servant  of  yours  —  he  seems  to 
have  the  making  of  a  soldier  in  him  —  will  he  care 
to  retain  the  rank  he  has  assumed  so  creditably?" 
he  went  on. 

Frank  rather  lost  his  breath  at  this  suggestion,  but 
he  had  the  presence  of  mind  to  refer  the  decision  to 
Chumru  himself. 

225 


The  Red  Year 

"Kubbi  nahin,  general-sahib,"1  was  the  Moham- 
medan's emphatic  disclaimer  of  the  honor  proposed  to 
be  conferred  on  him.  "I  am  a  good  bearer,  huzoor, 
but  I  should  prove  a  very  bad  rissaldar.  I  am  not  of 
a  fighting  caste.  I  am  a  man  of  peace." 

"I  think  you  are  mistaken,"  said  Havelock,  quietly, 
"but  by  all  means  continue  to  serve  your  master.  I 
am  sure  he  is  worthy  of  your  devotion.  And  now, 
Major  Malcolm,  if  you  will  report  yourself  to  General 
Neill,  he  will  provide  you  with  quarters  and  plenty  of 
work." 

1  Literally:  "Never  no  general!" 


226 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE   MEN   WHO  WORE  SKIRTS 

THAT  was  what  the  rebels  called  the  78th,  —  "the 
men  who  wore  skirts." 

Now,  Highland  regiments  had  fought  in  India  for 
many  a  year  before  the  Mutiny,  and  the  kilt  was  no 
new  thing  in  native  eyes.  The  phrase,  therefore,  is 
significant.  It  crystallizes  the  legend  that  went  round 
—  that  an  army  of  savage  English  was  marching  from 
Allahabad,  and  that  its  most  ferocious  corps  was 
dressed  in  skirts,  the  men  having  sworn  never  to  as- 
sume male  clothing  until  they  had  avenged  their 
murdered  women-folk. 

There  could  be  no  better  proof  that  the  sepoys  and 
their  helpers  were  well  aware  that  they  had  outraged 
all  the  laws  of  war  and  humanity  by  their  excesses, 
and  there  was  a  further  reason  why  the  garb  of  old 
Gaul  was  more  dreaded  throughout  India  than  any 
other  British  uniform  during  the  autumn  and  cold 
weather  of  1857.  Not  many  Europeans  knew  it  until 
long  afterwards,  but  the  natives  knew,  and  told  the 
story  with  bated  breath,  and  one  British  officer  knew, 
for  he  was  with  the  Seaforth  Highlanders  in  Cawnpore 
when  they  took  dire  vengeance  for  the  Well. 

227 


The  Red  Year 

It  is  a  matter  of  history  how  Havelock  marched  his 
little  army  of  twelve  hundred  men  along  the  Grand 
Trunk  Road  from  Allahabad.  He  led  a  thousand 
British  soldiers,  drawn  from  the  64th,  84th,  and  78th 
Foot,  and  the  1st  Madras  Fusiliers.  Captain  Brasyer 
brought  130  loyal  Sikhs  to  the  colmun:  there  were  six 
small  guns,  and  eighteen  volunteer  cavalry. 

These  details  should  be  appreciated  before  it  is 
possible  to  understand  the  supra-miraculous  campaign 
Havelock  conducted.  For  five  days  the  expedition 
tramped  north  in  the  rain  and  heat,  through  a  land 
given  over  to  dead  men,  vultures  and  carnivorous 
animals.  Renaud  and  Spurgin  had  made  no  prisoners. 
They  did  not  slay  wantonly,  but  the  slightest  shadow 
of  suspicion  falling  on  any  man  meant  the  short  shrift 
of  a  rope  and  the  nearest  tree. 

At  last,  on  the  12th  of  August,  the  main  body  over- 
took Renaud,  whose  patrols  were  stopped  by  a  large 
force  of  rebels  entrenched  in  a  village  four  miles  south 
of  Fattehpore.  The  junction  took  place  at  one  o'clock 
in  the  morning.  At  daybreak,  Havelock  sent  Colonel 
Tytler,  with  the  eighteen  volunteer  horse,  to  recon- 
noiter.  The  enemy's  cavalry,  thinking  they  had  only 
Renaud 's  tiny  detachment  to  deal  with,  charged  across 
the  plain,  to  find  the  whole  twelve  hundred  drawn  up 
to  receive  them.  Struck  with  a  sudden  fear,  the  white- 
coated  troopers  reined  in  their  horses.  This  was  the 
first  real  check  Nana  Sahib  had  received.  It  was 
typical  of  the  new  order.  The  flood-tide  of  mutiny 
had  met  its  barrier  rock.  Thenceforth,  it  ebbed, 


The  Men  who  Wore  Skirts 

though  it  raged  madly  for  a  while  in  the  effort  to  sweep 
away  the  obstruction. 

Without  giving  the  enemy's  cavalry  time  to  recover 
from  their  surprise,  Havelock  threw  forward  his  in- 
fantry, Captain  Maude,  of  the  Royal  Artillery,  rushed 
his  six  guns  to  a  point-blank  range,  there  was  a  short 
and  sharp  fight,  and  the  rebels  broke.  They  were 
chased  through  and  out  of  the  town  of  Fattehpore. 
All  their  guns  and  some  valuable  stores  were  captured, 
and,  greatest  marvel  in  a  day  of  marvels,  not  one 
British  soldier  had  fallen! 

No  wonder  Havelock  wrote  to  his  wife :  "  One  of  the 
prayers  oft  repeated  since  my  school-days  has  been 
answered,  and  I  have  lived  to  command  in  a  successful 
action.  .  .  .  But  away  with  vain  glory!  Thanks  be  to 
God  who  gave  me  the  victory." 

That  evening  Malcolm  witnessed  the  plundering  of 
Fattehpore,  which  was  permitted  in  retribution  for  its 
recent  rebellion.  The  town  lay  on  the  main  road, 
which,  at  this  point,  was  removed  from  the  river  by 
many  miles,  else  he  would  have  ridden  to  the  ghat  and 
sent  a  message  to  Hossein  Beg  in  order  to  make  sure 
of  the  safety  of  the  friendly  ryot. 

Owing  to  his  knowledge  of  the  vernacular,  he  man- 
aged to  pick  up  a  bit  of  useful  information  while  ques- 
tioning a  native  on  this  matter.  On  the  battle-field  he 
came  across  a  state  elephant  which  had  been  shot 
through  the  body  by  one  of  Maude's  nine-pounders. 
The  manner  of  the  beast's  death  was  remarkable  — 
it  is  not  often  that  an  elephant  is  bowled  over  by  a  can- 

229 


The  Red  Year 

non  ball  like  a  rabbit  by  a  bullet  from  a  small  caliber 
rifle  —  and  its  trappings  betokened  that  it  had  carried 
a  person  of  importance. 

Now  he  learned  that  Tantia  Topi  was  the  rider,  and 
it  was  thus  he  discovered  that  Nana  Sahib  was  directing 
the  operations  from  Cawnpore,  as  Tantia  Topi  was 
his  favorite  lieutenant,  whereas  it  was  believed  pre- 
viously that  the  Brahmin  usurper  would  lead  his  hosts 
to  take  part  in  the  siege  of  Lucknow. 

On  the  15th  a  sharp  fight  gave  the  British  possession 
of  the  village  of  Aong.  The  position  was  dearly  won, 
for  the  gallant  Renaud  fell  there,  mortally  wounded. 
The  men  were  about  to  prepare  their  breakfast  after 
the  battle  when  news  came  that  the  enemy,  strongly 
reinforced  from  Cawnpore,  were  preparing  to  blow  up 
a  bridge  over  the  Pandoo  Nuddee,  an  unfordable  tribu- 
tary of  the  Ganges,  six  miles  ahead.  Havelock  called 
for  a  special  effort,  the  troops  responded  without  a 
murmur,  and  advanced  through  dense  groves  of  mango 
trees  until  they  came  under  fire.  For  the  second  time 
that  day  they  hurled  themselves  on  the  rebels,  drove 
them  headlong  out  of  a  well-chosen  position,  and  saved 
the  bridge. 

Cawnpore  was  now  only  twenty-three  miles  distant. 
With  the  fickleness  of  the  rainy  season  the  sky  had 
cleared,  and  the  sun  beat  down  on  the  British  force 
with  a  fury  that  had  not  been  experienced  before  that 
year,  though  the  hot  weather  of  1857  was  noted  for  its 
exceedingly  high  temperatures.  The  elements  seemed 
to  have  joined  with  man  to  try  and  stop  the  advance, 


The  Men  who  Wore  Skirts 

but  neither  Indian  sun  nor  Indian  sepoy  could  restrain 
that  terrible  host.  Dogged  and  uncomplaining,  ani- 
mated rather  by  the  feelings  of  the  infuriated  tigress 
seeking  reprisals  for  her  slain  cubs  than  by  the  senti- 
ments of  soldiers  engaged  in  an  ordinary  campaign, 
they  pressed  on,  until  sixteen  miles  of  that  sun-scorched 
road  were  covered. 

Then  Havelock  commanded  a  halt  in  a  grove  of  trees, 
and  two  level-headed  sepoys,  deserters  from  Nana 
Sahib's  army,  came  in  and  told  the  British  general  that 
the  Nana  had  brought  five  thousand  men  out  of  Cawn- 
pore  to  do  battle  for  his  tottering  dynasty.  It  was  in 
vain.  Though  he  displayed  some  tactical  skill,  placed 
his  men  well,  and  did  not  hesitate  to  come  under  fire 
in  person,  he  was  out-generaled  by  a  flank  march  and 
sent  flying  to  Bithoor,  there  to  curse  his  fate,  befuddle 
his  wits  with  brandy,  and  threaten  to  drown  himself 
in  the  Ganges. 

But  the  battle  was  not  won  until  one  of  those  strange 
incidents  happened  that  distinguish  the  Mutiny  from 
all  other  wars.  It  must  never  be  forgotten  that  the 
sepoys  had  received  their  training  from  British  officers. 
Their  words  of  command,  methods  of  fighting,  even 
their  uniforms,  were  based  on  European  models. 

They  had  regimental  bands,  too,  and  the  tunes  in 
their  repertoire  were  those  in  vogue  in  Britain,  for 
native  music  does  not  lend  itself  to  military  purposes. 
The  musicians,  of  course,  were  profoundly  ignorant 
of  the  names  or  significance  of  the  melodies  they  had 
been  taught  to  play. 

231 


The  Red  Year 

Hence,  when  Nana  Sahib  rallied  his  men  in  a  village, 
Havelock  called  on  the  Highlanders  and  64th  to  take 
it,  and  the  two  regiments  entered  into  a  gallant  race  for 
the  position,  while  the  Highland  pipers  struck  up  an 
inspiring  pibroch.  Not  to  be  outdone,  a  sepoy  band 
responded  with  "The  Campbells  are  Coming!" 

And  this,  of  all  airs,  to  the  Mackenzies!  It  was 
chance,  of  course,  but  it  added  gall  to  the  venom  of  the 
78th. 

This  fourth  and  greatest  victory  was  a  costly  one  to 
the  British,  but  it  left  their  ardor  undiminished,  their 
reckless  courage  intensified.  On  the  next  day  they 
flung  themselves  against  the  remnant  of  the  Nana's 
army  that  still  tried  to  bar  the  way  into  the  city. 
Vague  rumors  had  reached  the  men  of  the  dreadful 
tragedy  enacted  on  the  15th.  They  refused  to  credit 
them.  None  but  maniacs  would  murder  helpless 
women  and  children  in  the  belief  that  the  crime  would 
hinder  the  advance  of  their  rescuers.  So  they  crushed, 
tore,  beat  a  path  through  the  suburbs,  until  the  leading 
company  of  Highlanders  reached  the  Bibigarh,  the 
House  of  the  Woman. 

Malcolm  was  with  them,  and  he  saw  a  sergeant  enter 
the  blood-stained  dwelling,  while  the  men  lined  up  in 
front  of  the  Well  in  an  awed  silence.  The  sergeant 
returned.  His  brick-red  face  had  paled  to  an  ashen 
tint.  In  his  hand  he  carried  the  long,  rich  strands  of 
a  woman's  hair,  strands  that  had  been  hacked  off 
some  unhappy  Englishwoman's  head  by  Nana  Sahib's 
butchers. 

232 


The  Men  who  Wore  Skirts 

He  removed  his  bonnet  with  the  solemnity  of  a  man 
who  is  in  the  presence  of  God  and  death.  Passing 
down  the  ranks  he  gave  a  lock  of  the  hair  to  each 
soldier. 

"  One  life  for  every  hair  before  the  sun  sets,"  he  said 
quietly.  And  that  was  all,  but  there  are  old  men  yet 
alive  in  Cawnpore  who  remember  how  the  Highlanders 
raged  through  the-  streets  that  evening  like  the  wrath 
of  Heaven. 

General  Neill,  who  came  later  and  assumed  the  role 
of  magistrate,  showed  neither  pity  nor  mercy.  Every 
man  who  fell  into  his  hands,  and  who  was  connected 
in  the  slightest  degree  with  the  infamy  of  the  Well,  was 
hanged  on  a  gallows  erected  in  the  compound,  but  not 
until  he  had  cleaned  with  his  tongue  the  allotted  square 
of  blood-stained  cement  that  formed  the  floor  of  the 
house. 

Cawnpore,  on  the  17th,  was  indeed  a  city  of  dreadful 
night.  The  fierce  exultation  of  successful  warfare  was 
gone.  The  streets  were  empty  save  for  prowling  dogs, 
pigs,  and  venturesome  wild  beasts.  No  sound  was 
heard  in  the  British  encampment  except  the  melancholy 
plaint  of  the  pipes  mourning  for  the  dead,  during  the 
interment  of  those  who  had  fallen.  Even  the  uncon- 
querable Havelock  said  to  his  son,  as  they  and  the 
officers  of  the  staff  sat  at  dinner: 

"If  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst  we  can  but  die 
with  our  swords  in  our  hands." 

Next  morning  his  splendid  vitality  reasserted  itself. 
He  advanced  towards  Bithoor  and  took  up  a  strong 

233 


The  Red  Year 

position  in  case  Nana  Sahib  might  attempt  to  recover 
the  city.  But  that  arch-fiend  had  been  deserted  by 
the  majority  of  his  followers,  and  he  was  babbling  of 
suicide  to  his  fellow  Brahmins. 

Meanwhile  Neill  brought  a  few  more  troops  from 
Allahabad,  and  Havelock  threw  the  greater  portion  of 
his  army  across  the  Ganges.  Owing  to  the  difficulty 
of  obtaining  boats  and  skilled  boatmen,  this  was  a 
slow  and  dangerous  undertaking.  It  took  five  days  to 
ferry  nine  hundred  men  to  the  Oudh  side,  but  Law- 
rence had  said  that  the  Residency  could  only  hold  out 
fourteen  days,  and  come  what  might  the  effort  must 
be  made  to  relieve  him. 

On  the  20th  while  Malcolm  was  occupied  with  some 
details  of  transport,  Chumru  came  to  him.  The 
bearer  was  no  longer  "Ali  Khan,"  the  swashbuckler, 
but  a  white-robed  domestic,  though  no  change  of  attire 
could  rob  him  of  the  truculent  aspect  that  was  the 
gift  of  nature. 

Beside  Chumru  stood  another  Mohammedan,  an  elder- 
ly man,  who  straightened  himself  under  the  sahib's  eye 
and  brought  up  his  right  hand  in  a  smart  military  salute. 

"Huzoor,"  said  Chumru,  "this  is  Ungud,  Kumpani 
pinsin  (a  pensioner  of  the  Company),  and  he  would 
have  speech  with  the  Presence." 

"Speak,  then,  and  quickly,  for  I  have  occupation," 
said  Malcolm.  But  he  listened  carefully  enough  to 
Ungud's  words,  for  the  man  coolly  proposed  to  work  his 
way  to  Lucknow  and  carry  any  message  to  Lawrence 
that  the  General-sahib  entrusted  to  him. 

234 


The  Men  who  Wore  Skirts 

It  was  a  desperate  thing  to  suggest.  The  absence 
of  native  spies  from  either  Cawnpore  or  Lucknow 
proved  that  the  rebels  killed,  and  probably  tortured 
all  who  attempted  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  their  investing 
lines.  Yet  Ungud  was  firm  in  his  offer,  so  Malcolm 
brought  him  to  Havelock  and  the  general  at  once 
wrote  and  gave  him  a  letter  to  Lawrence,  the  news  of 
the  great  Commissioner's  death  not  having  reached 
the  relieving  force. 

Frank  seized  the  opportunity  to  write  a  few  lines  to 
Winifred.  He  was  charged  with  the  care  of  Ungud 
as  far  as  the  nearest  river  ghat,  and  he  scribbled  the 
following  as  he  rode  thither: 

BRITISH  FIELD  FORCE, 
CAWNPORE,  July  20th,  1857. 
MY  DEAREST  WINIFRED: 

If  this  note  is  safely  delivered,  you  will  know  that  Sir  Henry 
Havelock,  at  the  head  of  a  strong  force,  is  on  his  way  to  relieve 
Lucknow.  I  am  with  him,  as  major  on  the  staff. 

I  reached  Allahabad  on  the  4th,  thanks  wholly  to  your  loving 
thought  in  sending  Chumru  after  me,  for  I  was  a  prisoner  in  the 
hands  of  a  fanatical  moulvie  when  Chumru  came  to  my  assistance. 
He  saved  my  life  there,  and  his  quick-witted  devotion  was  shown 
in  many  other  instances  during  a  most  exciting  journey.  My  thoughts 
are  always  with  you,  dear  one,  and  I  offer  many  a  prayer  to  the 
Most  High  that  you  may  retain  your  health  and  spirits  amid  the 
horrors  that  surround  you.  Be  confident,  dear  heart,  and  bid  your 
uncle  tell  his  comrades  of  the  garrison  that  we  mean  to  cut  our  way 
to  your  rescue  through  all  opposition. 

The  bearer  will  endeavor  to  return  with  a  reply  to  the  general. 
Perhaps  you  may  be  able  to  send  a  line  with  him.  In  any  event,  I 
trust  he  will  see  you,  and  that  will  bring  joy  to  my  soul  when  I  hear 

of  it. 

Ever  your  devoted 
FRANK. 

235 


The  Red  Year 

By  Havelock's  order,  a  light,  swift  boat  was  placed 
at  Ungud's  disposal,  and  Malcolm  supplied  him  with 
plenty  of  money  for  horses  and  bribes  on  the  road, 
while,  in  the  event  of  success,  he  would  be  liberally 
rewarded  afterwards. 

Now  it  chanced  that  on  the  20th,  about  the  very 
hour  Ungud  set  out  on  his  daring  mission,  the  Moulvie 
of  Fyzabad  managed  to  goad  his  co-religionists  into  a 
determined  assault  on  the  Residency. 

At  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  bombardment 
suddenly  ceased.  The  garrison  sentries  noted  an 
unusual  gathering  of  the  enemy's  forces  in  the  streets 
and  open  spaces  that  confronted  the  Bailey  Guard  and 
the  other  main  posts  on  the  city  side. 

They  gave  the  alarm  and  every  man  rushed  to  the 
walls.  Even  the  sick  and  wounded  left  their  beds. 
Men  with  the  fire  of  fever  in  their  eyes,  men  with 
bandaged  limbs  and  scarce  able  to  crawl,  asked  for 
muskets  and  lined  up  alongside  their  yet  unscathed 
comrades. 

They  waited  in  grim  silence,  those  war-worn  soldiers 
of  the  Queen.  The  signal  for  a  furious  struggle  was 
given  in  dramatic  fashion.  A  mine  exploded,  a  large 
section  of  the  defending  wall  crumbled  into  ruins,  a 
hundred  guns  belched  forth  a  perfect  hail  of  round 
shot,  sharpshooters  stationed  in  the  neighboring 
houses  fired  their  muskets  as  rapidly  as  they  could  lift 
them  from  piles  of  loaded  weapons  at  their  command, 
and,  under  cover  of  this  fusillade,  some  three  thousand 
rebels  advanced  to  the  attack. 

236 


The  Men  who  Wore  Skirts 

They  came  on  with  magnificent  courage.  They 
actually  succeeded  in  planting  scaling-ladders  across 
the  breach,  and  their  leader,  a  fierce-looking  cavalry 
rissaldar,  leaped  into  the  ditch  and  stood  there,  right 
in  front  of  the  Cawnpore  battery,  waving  a  green 
standard  to  encourage  his  followers. 

He  was  shot  by  a  man  of  the  32d,  and  his  body 
formed  the  lowermost  layer  of  a  causeway  of  corpses 
that  soon  choked  the  ditch.  But  the  concentrated  fire 
of  the  defenders  checked  this  most  audacious  of  the 
many  assaults  delivered  during  four  hours'  fighting. 
At  two  o'clock  the  attack  slackened  and  died  away. 
The  rebels  had  lost  some  hundreds,  while  the  British 
had  only  four  men  killed  and  twelve  wounded. 

There  was  much  jubilation  among  the  garrison  at 
this  outcome  of  the  long-expected  and  dreaded  attack. 
It  added  to  their  spirit  of  self-reliance,  and  it  cast  down 
the  hopes  of  the  mutineers  to  a  corresponding  degree; 
because  their  moral  inferiority  was  proved  beyond 
dispute.  Like  all  Asiatics,  they  had  not  dared  to 
press  on  in  the  face  of  death.  With  one  whole-hearted 
rush  those  three  thousand  fighters  could  have  swarmed 
into  the  Residency  against  all  the  efforts  of  the  few 
Europeans  and  natives  who  resisted  them.  But  that 
rush  was  never  made  by  the  assailants  as  a  mass.  Not 
once  in  the  history  of  the  Mutiny  did  the  sepoys  adopt 
the  "  do  or  die  "  method  that  characterized  the  British 
troops  in  nearly  every  action  of  the  campaign. 

When  the  moon  rose  on  the  night  of  the  21st  a  sharp- 
eyed  sentry  saw  a  man  creeping  across  the  broken 

237 


The  Red  Year 

ground  in  front  of  the  Bailey  Guard.  He  raised 
his  rifle,  but  his  orders  were  to  challenge  any 
one  who  approached  thus  secretly,  lest,  perchance, 
a  messenger  from  some  relieving  force  might  be  slain 
by  error. 

"  Who  goes  there  ?  "  he  cried. 

"A  friend,"  was  the  answer,  but  the  rest  of  the 
stranger's  words  showed  that  he  was  a  native. 

The  sentry  was  no  linguist. 

"You  baito1  where  you  are,"  he  commanded,  bid- 
ding a  comrade  summon  an  officer,  "  or  somebody  who 
can  talk  the  lingo." 

Within  a  minute  the  newcomer  was  admitted.  It 
was  Ungud,  who  had  run  the  gauntlet  of  the  enemy's 
pickets  and  who  now  triumphantly  produced  Have- 
lock's  letter  to  "  Larrence-sahib  Bahadur."  Alas, 
Henry  Lawrence  was  dead,  but  Brigadier  Inglis,  who 
succeeded  him  in  the  command,  now  learnt  that  Have- 
lock  had  defeated  Nana  Sahib,  occupied  Cawnpore, 
and  was  advancing  to  the  relief  of  Lucknow. 

How  the  great  news  buzzed  through  the  Residency! 
How  men  grasped  each  other's  hands  in  glee  and 
exultation  and  sought  leave  to  take  the  joyful  tidings 
to  the  hospital  and  the  women's  quarters! 

Mayne  aroused  Winifred  to  tell  her. 

"  Perhaps  Malcolm  was  able  to  get  through  to  Alla- 
habad," *he  said.     "When  you  come  to  think  of  the 
difficulties  in  the  way  of  our  troops  —  this  man  says 
they   have   fought  three   if   not  four  pitched    battles 
'"Stop." 
238 


The  Men  who  Wore  Skirts 

between  Fattehpore  and  Cawnpore  —  we  have  been 
unreasonable  in  looking  for  help  so  soon." 

"  Mr.  Malcolm  would  surely  succeed  if  it  were  pos- 
sible. He  understands  the  native  character  so  well 
and  is  so  proficient  in  their  language,  that  he  was  the 
best  man  who  could  be  chosen  for  such  a  task." 

And  that  was  all  that  Winifred  would  say  about 
"Mr.  Malcolm,"  who  would  have  been  the  most 
miserable  and  the  most  astonished  person  in  India 
that  night  had  he  known  how  bitter  was  the  girl's 
heart  against  him. 

Though  Winifred  was  not  to  blame,  for  the  necklace 
and  the  pass  offered  strong  evidence  of  double-dealing 
on  her  lover's  part,  her  unjust  suspicions  were  doomed 
to  receive  a  severe  shock. 

In  the  morning  she  heard  that  Captain  Fulton  wished 
to  see  her.  She  left  her  quarters  by  a  covered  way 
and  waited  outside  the  Begum  Kotee  until  a  soldier 
found  Fulton. 

He  came,  bringing  with  him  a  native. 

"This  is  the  man  who  arrived  from  Cawnpore  last 
night,  Miss  Mayne,"  he  said.  "He  has  a  letter  for 
you,  but  he  refuses  to  deliver  it  to  any  one  but  yourself. 
I  fancy,"  added  the  gallant  engineer  officer  with  a 
smile,  "that  the  sender  impressed  on  him  the  impor- 
tance of  its  reaching  the  right  hands." 

Winifred  caught  a  glimpse  of  Frank's  handwriting. 
Her  face  grew  scarlet.  For  one  delightful  instant  she 
forgot  the  harsh  thoughts  she  had  harbored  against 
him.  Then  the  scourge  of  memory  tortured  her. 

239 


The  Red  Year 

Fulton's  kindly  assumption  that  Malcolm  was  her 
fiance  must  be  dispelled  and  she  bit  her  lower  lip  in 
vexation  at  the  tell-tale  rush  of  color  that  had  mantled 
her  cheeks  when  Ungud  discharged  his  trust  and  gave 
her  the  letter. 

"It  is  from  Captain  Malcolm,"  she  said  coldly. 
"I  suppose  he  wishes  his  personal  belongings  to  be 
safeguarded.  I  am  surprised  he  did  not  write  to  my 
uncle  rather  than  to  me." 

Fulton  was  surprised,  but  he  laughed  lightly. 

"Every  one  to  his  taste,"  he  said;  "but  from  what 
little  I  have  seen  of  Malcolm  I  should  wager  that  nine 
out  of  ten  letters  addressed  to  the  Mayne  family  would 
be  intended  for  you,  Miss  Winifred.  By  the  way,  a 
word  in  your  ear.  General  Inglis  hopes  to  persuade 
our  friend  here  to  try  his  luck  on  a  return  journey  to- 
night. Perhaps  you  may  have  a  note  to  send  on  your 
own  account.  No  one  else  must  know.  This  is  a 
special  favor,  conferred  because  Malcolm  himself 
procured  Ungud's  services,  but  we  cannot  ask  the 
man  to  act  as  general  postman.  Good-by." 

He  hurried  away.  Winifred,  after  the  manner  of 
woman,  fingered  the  unopened  letter. 

"  Kuch  joab  hai,  miss-sahib  ?  "  asked  Ungud. 

"There  is  no  answer — yet.     I  will  give  you  one  later." 

The  girl's  Hindustani  went  far  enough  to  enable 
her  to  frame  the  reply  intelligibly.  Ungud  salaamed 
and  left  her,  probably  contrasting  in  his  own  mind  the 
lady's  frigidity  with  the  fervid  instructions  given  him 
by  the  officer-sahib. 

240 


The  Men  who  Wore  Skirts 

Then  Winifred  went  to  her  own  room  and  opened 
her  letter,  and  her  woman's  heart  gleaned  the  truth 
from  its  candor.  Of  course  she  cried.  What  girl 
wouldn't?  But  she  smiled  through  her  tears  and 
read  the  nice  bits  over  and  over  again.  Not  for  twenty 
necklaces  and  a  whole  file  of  hieroglyphic  passes  would 
she  doubt  Frank  any  more. 

The  reference  to  Chumru  puzzled  her  and  that  was 
a  gratifying  thing  in  itself,  for  if  Frank  could  be  mis- 
taken about  her  share  in  Chumru's  departure  from 
Lucknow,  why  should  not  she  be  wrong  in  her  inter- 
pretation of  the  mysterious  presence  of  the  necklace? 

When  her  uncle  came  she  wept  again,  being  hysterical 
with  the  sheer  joy  of  watching  his  face  while  he  perused 
Frank's  note. 

A  man's  bewilderment  finds  different  expression  to 
a  woman's.  A  man  trusts  his  brain,  a  woman  her 
heart. 

"If  there  is  one  thing  absolutely  clear  in  this  letter 
it  is  that  Frank  knows  nothing  whatever  about  the 
pearls  you  produced  from  his  turban,"  said  Mr.  Mayne, 
with  the  frown  of  a  judge  who  is  dealing  with  a  knotty 
point  in  equity. 

"  There  are  —  several  things  —  quite  clear  in  it  — 
to  me,"  fluttered  Winifred. 

"Ah,  hum,  yes.  But  I  mean  that  it  is  ridiculous  to 
suppose  he  would  knowingly  leave  such  a  valuable 
article  exposed  to  the  chances  and  changes  of  barrack- 
room  life  in  a  siege.  Whatever  motive  he  may  have 
had  in  concealing  the  necklace  earlier  he  would  surely 

241 


The  Red  Year 

have  said  something  about  it  now,  given  some  hint 
as  to  its  value,  asked  you  to  take  care  of  his  baggage, 
or  something  of  the  sort." 

"In  my  heart  of  hearts  I  always  felt  that  we  were 
misjudging  Frank,"  said  she. 

Mayne's  eyebrows  lifted  a  trifle,  but  he  passed  no 
comment. 

"By  the  way,"  he  said,  "where  is  the  necklace?" 

"Here,"  she  said,  pulling  a  box  out  of  a  cupboard. 
The  string  of  pearls  was  coiled  up  in  the  midst  of  the 
roll  of  soiled  muslin  and  the  badge  was  pinned  to  one 
of  the  folds. 

"That  is  a  very  unsafe  place,"  said  Mayne.  "If  I 
were  you  I  would  wear  it  beneath  your  bodice." 

"Would  you  really?" 

"Yes.  I  can  think  of  no  other  explanation  of  the 
mystery  now  than  that  Frank  meant  to  surprise  you 
with  it.  You  may  be  sure  he  obtained  it  honorably, 
so  you  will  only  be  meeting  his  wishes  by  wearing  it. 
At  any  rate  it  will  be  safer  in  your  possession  than  in 
that  cupboard. 

"Perhaps  you  are  right,"  said  she.  And  while  she 
clasped  the  diamond-studded  brooch  in  front  of  her 
white  throat  she  glanced  round  the  room  for  a  mirror. 

Her  uncle  smiled.  He  was  glad  that  this  little 
cloud  had  lifted  off  Winifred's  sky.  The  sufferings 
and  positive  dangers  of  the  siege  were  bad  enough 
already  without  being  added  to  by  a  private  grief. 

He  stooped  to  pick  up  the  turban  and  his  eye  fell 
on  the  regimental  device  of  the  metal  badge. 

242 


The  Men  who  Wore  Skirts 

"This  is  not  an  officer's  head-dress,"  he  cried. 
"And  Malcolm  belongs  to  the  3d  Cavalry,  whereas 
this  badge  was  worn  by  a  trooper  in  the  2d." 

Winifred,  who  was  turning  her  neck  and  shoulders 
this  way  and  that  to  get  different  angles  of  light,  stopped 
admiring  herself  and  ran  to  his  side. 

"That  is  the  turban  Frank  wore  during  our  ride 
from  Cawnpore,"  she  whispered  breathlessly. 

"  It  may  be.  But  don't  you  remember  that  he  was 
bareheaded  when  we  met  him  in  Nana  Sahib's  garden  ? 
I  was  knocked  almost  insensible  during  the  fight  for 
the  boat  so  I  am  not  sure  what  happened  during  the 
next  few  minutes.  Nevertheless,  I  can  recall  that 
prior  fact  beyond  cavil.  If  it  were  not  for  the  safe- 
conduct  you  found  at  the  same  time  as  the  pearls,  I 
would  incline  strongly  to  the  belief  that  Frank  obtained 
this  turban  by  accident,  and  is  wholly  ignorant  of  its 
extraordinary  contents . ' ' 

"I  must  write  at  once  and  tell  him  how  sorry  I  am 
that  I  misjudged  him." 

"You  dear  little  goose,"  cried  her  uncle  amusedly, 
"Frank  will  begin  to  wonder  then  what  the  judging 
was  about.  No.  Wait  until  you  meet.  Write,  by 
all  means,  but  leave  problems  for  settlement  during 
your  first  tete-a-tete." 

So  Ungud  carried  in  his  turban  a  loving  and  sym- 
pathetic note,  which  Winifred,  with  no  small  pride, 
addressed  to  "Major  Frank  Malcolm,  Headquarters 
Staff,  British  Field  Force,  Cawnpore,"  and  she  said 
inside,  among  other  things,  that  she  hoped  this  would 

243 


The  Red  Year 

prove  to  be  the  first  letter  he  received  with  the  inscrip- 
tion of  his  new  rank. 

Ungud  also  took  confidential  details  from  the  Briga- 
dier for  Havelock's  information,  and  in  three  days, 
being  as  supple  as  an  eel  and  cautious  as  a  leopard, 
he  was  back  again  with  a  reply  from  the  general  to 
the  effect  that  the  relieving  force  would  arrive  in  less 
than  a  week. 

He  brought  another  missive  from  Frank,  cheery 
and  optimistic  in  tone  and  still  blithely  oblivious  of  the 
existence  of  such  baubles  as  hundred-thousand-dollar 
necklaces. 

And  that  was  all  the  news  that  either  the  garrison  or 
Winifred  received  for  more  than  a  month,  when  the 
intrepid  Ungud  again  entered  the  lines  to  bring  Have- 
lock's  ominous  advice:  "Do  not  negotiate,  but  rather 
perish  sword  in  hand." 

This  time  there  was  no  letter  from  Frank,  and  the 
alarmed,  half-despairing  girl  could  only  learn  that  the 
major-sahib  was  not  with  the  column,  which  had  been 
compelled  to  fall  back  on  Cawnpore  after  some  heavy 
fighting  in  Oudh.  Ungud  did  not  think  he  was  dead; 
but  who  could  tell  ?  There  were  so  many  sahibs  who 
fell,  for  out  of  his  twelve  hundred  Havelock  had 
lost  nearly  half,  and  was  now  eating  his  heart  out  in  a 
weary  wait  for  reenforcements  that  were  toiling  up  the 
thousand  miles  of  road  and  river  from  Calcutta. 

So  the  blackness  of  disappointed  hope  fell  on  the 
Residency  and  its  inmates.  Those  few  natives  who 
had  hitherto  proved  faithful  began  to  desert  in  scores. 

244 


The  Men  who  Wore  Skirts 

About  a  third  of  the  European  soldiers  were  dead. 
Smallpox  and  cholera  added  their  ravages  to  the  enemy's 
unceasing  fire  and  occasional  fierce  assaults.  Famine 
and  tainted  water,  and  lack  of  hospital  stores,  and  every 
evil  device  of  malign  fate  that  persecutes  people  in 
such  straits,  were  there  to  harass  the  unhappy  de- 
fenders. Officers  and  men  swore  that  they  would 
shoot  their  women-folk  with  their  own  hands  rather 
than  permit  them  to  fall  into  the  rebels'  clutches,  and, 
at  times,  when  the  siege  slackened  a  little  in  its  con- 
tinuous cannonade,  the  devoted  community  gave  way 
to  lethargy  and  despondency. 

But  let  the  enemy  muster  for  an  attack,  these  veteran 
soldiers  faced  them  with  the  dogged  steadfastness  that 
made  them  gods  among  the  Asiatic  scum.  The 
Brigadier,  too,  never  allowed  his  splendid  spirit  to 
flag.  Though  for  three  months  he  had  not  slept 
without  being  fully  dressed,  though  he  worked  harder 
than  any  other  man  in  the  garrison,  he  was  the  life 
and  soul  of  every  outpost  that  he  visited  during  the 
day  or  night. 

Captain  Fulton  was  another  human  dynamo  in  their 
midst.  Finding  plenty  of  miners  among  the  Cornish- 
men  of  the  32d,  he  sunk  a  countermine  for  each  mine 
burrowed  by  the  enemy.  His  favorite  amusement  was 
to  sit  alone  for  hours  in  a  shaft,  wait  patiently  until 
the  rebels  bored  a  way  up  to  him,  and  then  shoot  the 
foremost  workers. 

And  in  such  fashion  the  siege  went  on,  with  houses 
collapsing,  because  they  were  so  riddled  with  cannon- 

245 


The  Red  Year 

balls  that  the  walls  gave  way,  and  ever-nearing  sapping 
of  the  fortifications,  and  intolerable  breaks  in  the 
monsoon,  when  the  heat  became  so  overpowering  that 
even  the  natives  yielded  to  the  strain  —  and  the  days 
passed,  and  the  weeks,  and  the  months,  until,  on 
September  16,  Ungud,  tempted  by  a  bribe  of  five 
thousand  rupees,  crept  away  for  the  last  tune  with 
despatches  for  Havelock. 


246 


CHAPTER  XIV 

WHY   MALCOLM   DID   NOT  WHITE 

IT  was  the  saddest  hour  in  Havelock's  life  when  he 
decided  that  his  Invincibles  must  retreat.  Yet,  after 
another  week's  fighting,  that  course  was  forced  on  him. 

On  July  25  he  plunged  fearlessly  into  Oudh,  leaving 
a  wide  and  rapid  river  in  his  rear,  with  other  rivers, 
canals,  and  fortified  towns  and  villages  in  front,  on 
three  sides  swarms  of  determined  enemies  gathered 
under  the  standards  of  Nana  Sahib  and  the  Oudh 
Taluqdars,  and  everywhere  a  hostile  if  not  actually 
mutinous  peasantry. 

With  his  usual  daring,  trusting  to  the  unsurpassed 
elan  of  his  troops,  he  fought  battles  at  Onao  and  Bus- 
seerutgunge.  Then  when  the  thunder  of  the  fighting 
was  faintly  heard  by  listeners  in  the  Residency,  Have- 
lock  took  thought  and  regretted  that  he  had  ventured 
to  leave  Cawnpore. 

His  force  numbered  about  half  the  men  who  marched 
out  of  Allahabad  on  the  7th.  Cholera  had  broken  out; 
stores  were  scanty;  there  was  not  a  single  litter  for 
another  wounded  man;  and,  worst  of  all,  ammunition 
was  failing.  To  advance  farther  meant  the  total 
destruction  of  his  little  army,  the  sure  and  instant  fall 

247 


The  Red  Year 

of  the  Residency,  and  the  disappearance  of  the  British 
flag  from  an  enormous  territory. 

Yet  he  hesitated  before  he  gave  the  final  order.  He 
fell  back  a  couple  of  marches  and  wrote  to  Neill  on 
the  31st  that  he  could  "do  nothing  for  the  relief  of 
Lucknow, "  until  he  received  a  reenforcement  of  a 
thousand  men  and  a  new  battery. 

Neill,  who  was  holding  Cawnpore  with  three  hun- 
dred rifles,  returned  the  most  amazing  reply  that 
ever  a  subordinate  officer  addressed  to  his  chief. 

"The  natives  don't  believe  you  have  won  any  real 
victories,"  he  wrote,  in  effect.  "Your  retreat  has 
destroyed  the  prestige  of  England.  While  you  are 
waiting  for  reenforcements  that  cannot  arrive  Lucknow 
will  be  lost.  You  must  advance  again  and  not  halt 
until  you  have  rescued  the  garrison.  Then  return 
here  sharp,  as  there  is  much  to  be  done  between  this 
and  Agra  and  Delhi. 

Neill 's  zeal  outran  his  discretion.  Havelock  told 
him  in  plain  language  his  opinion  of  this  curious  epistle. 

"Your  letter  is  the  most  extraordinary  I  have  ever 
perused,"  he  said.  .  .  .  "Consideration  of  the  ob- 
struction which  would  arise  in  the  public  service  alone 
prevents  me  from  placing  you  under  immediate  arrest. 
You  now  stand  warned.  Attempt  no  further  dictation. " 

Yet  Neill's  advice  rankled  and  there  were  men  on 
Havelock's  staff  who  agreed  with  the  outspoken  Irish- 
man. Neill,  however,  coolly  bottled  his  wrath  and 
sent  on  a  company  of  the  84th  and  three  guns. 

They  brought  despatches  from  Sir  Patrick  Grant, 
248 


Why  Malcolm  Did  Not  Write 

Commander-in-Chief  at  Calcutta,  telling  Havelock 
that  the  troops  sent  from  the  capital  had  been  turned 
aside  to  deal  with  mutineers  in  Behar. 

The  gallant  Crimean  veteran  therefore  hardened 
his  heart,  set  out  once  more  for  Lucknow  and  fought 
another  most  successful  battle  at  Busseerutgunge. 
There  could  be  no  questioning  either  the  victory  or  its 
cost.  Another  such  success  and  his  column  would 
not  number  a  half  battalion. 

That  night  he  watched  the  weary  soldiers  digging 
graves  for  their  fallen  comrades,  and,  while  his  brain 
was  torn  with  conflicting  problems,  a  spy  brought  news 
that  the  powerful  Gwalior  Contingent  was  marching 
to  seize  Cawnpore.  He  hesitated  no  longer.  As  a 
general  he  had  no  right  to  be  swayed  by  emotion. 
He  must  protect  Cawnpore  as  a  base  and  trust  to  the 
fortune  of  war  that  Lucknow  might  keep  the  flag 
flying. 

Malcolm  was  with  him  when  he  formed  this  reso- 
lution. Outwardly  cold,  Sir  Henry  seemed  to  his 
youthful  observer,  who  now  knew  him  better,  to  re- 
semble a  volcano  coated  with  ice. 

"Major,"  he  said,  "the  column  will  retreat  at  day- 
break. But  I  will  get  my  other  aides  to  make  arrange- 
ments. Are  you  quite  recovered  from  your  wound? 
Are  you  capable  of  undergoing  somewhat  severe 
exertion,  I  mean  ?  " 

Frank  answered  modestly  that  he  thought  he  had 
never  been  better  in  health  or  strength,  though  he 
wondered  inwardly  what  sort  of  exertion  could  be 

249 


The  Red  Year 

more  "severe"  than  his  experiences  of  the  preceding 
three  weeks. 

But  Havelock  knew  what  he  was  talking  about,  as 
shall  be  seen. 

"  I  want  you  to  make  the  best  of  your  way  to  Delhi," 
he  said  in  his  unbending  way.  "I  leave  details  to 
you,  except  that  I  would  like  you  to  start  to-night  if 
possible.  Of  course  any  kind  of  escort  that  is  avail- 
able would  be  fatal  to  your  success,  but,  if  I  remember 
his  record  rightly,  that  servant  of  yours  may  be  useful. 
I  do  not  propose  to  give  you  any  despatches.  If  you 
get  through  tell  the  Commander-in-Chief  in  the  Punjab 
exactly  how  we  are  situated  here.  Tell  him  Lucknow 
will  not  be  relieved  for  nearly  two  months,  but  that  I 
will  hold  Cawnpore  till  the  last  man  falls.  I  hope 
and  trust  you  may  be  spared  to  make  the  journey  in 
safety.  If  you  succeed  you  will  receive  a  gratuity  and 
a  step  in  rank.  Good-by!" 

He  held  out  his  hand,  and  his  calm  eyes  kindled  for  a 
moment.  Then  Frank  found  himself  walking  to  his 
tent  and  reviewing  all  that  this  meant  to  Winifred  and 
himself.  He  was  none  the  less  a  brave  man  if  his 
lips  trembled  somewhat  and  there  came  a  tightening 
of  the  throat  that  suspiciously  resembled  a  sob. 

Two  months!  Could  a  delicate  girl  live  so  long  in 
another  such  Inferno  at  Lucknow  as  he  had  seen  in 
Wheeler's  abandoned  entrenchment  at  Cawnpore  ? 

"  God  help  us  both ! "  he  murmured  bitterly,  passing 
a  hand  involuntarily  over  his  misty  eyes.  With  the 
action  he  brushed  away  doubt  and  fears.  He  was  a 

250 


Why  Malcolm  Did  Not  Write 

soldier  again,   one  to  whom  hearing  and  obedience 
were  identical. 

"Chumru,"  he  said,  when  he  found  his  domestic 
scratching  mud  off  a  coat  with  his  nails  for  lack  of  a 
clothes-brush,  "we  set  out  for  Delhi  to-night,  you 
and  I." 

"All  right,  sahib,"  was  the  unexpected  parry  to  this 
astounding  thrust,  and  Chumru  kept  on  with  his  task. 

"It  is  a  true  thing,"  said  Malcolm,  who  knew  full 
well  that  the  Mohammedan  understood  the  extraordi- 
nary difficulty  of  such  a  mission.  "  It  is  the  General- 
sahib's  order,  and  he  wishes  you  to  go  with  me.  Will 
you  come?" 

"Huzoor,  have  you  ever  gone  anywhere  without  me 
since  you  came  to  my  hut  that  night  when  I  was  stricken 
with  smallpox  —  " 

"Only  once,  you  rascal,  and  then  you  came  after 
me  to  my  great  good  fortune.  Very  well,  then;  that 
is  settled.  Stop  raising  dust  and  listen.  We  ride 
to-night.  Let  us  discuss  the  manner  of  our  traveling, 
for  'tis  a  long  road  and  full  of  mischief." 

Chumru  laid  aside  the  garment  and  tickled  his 
wiry  hair  underneath  his  turban. 

"By  the  Kaaba,"  he  growled,  "such  roads  lead  to 
Jehannum  more  easily  than  to  Delhi.  Do  you  go  to 
the  Princess  Roshinara,  sahib  ?  " 

Malcolm's  overwrought  feelings  found  vent  in  a 
hearty  laugh. 

"What  fiend  tempted  thee  to  think  of  her,  owl?" 
he  cried. 

251 


The  Red  Year 

"Nay,  sahib,  no  fiend  other  than  a  woman.  What 
else  would  bring  your  honor  to  Delhi  ?  Is  there  not 
occupation  here  in  plenty?" 

"I  tell  thee,  image,  that  the  General-sahib  hath 
ordered  it.  And  I  am  making  for  the  British  camp 
on  the  Ridge,  not  for  the  city." 

Chumru  dismissed  the  point.  He  was  a  fatalist 
and  he  probably  reserved  his  opinion.  Malcolm  had 
beguiled  the  long  night  after  they  left  Rai  Bareilly 
with  the  story  of  his  strange  meetings  with  the  King's 
daughter.  To  the  Eastern  mind  there  was  Kismet  in 
such  happenings. 

"I  would  you  had  not  lost  Bahadur  Shah's  pass, 
huzoor,"  he  said.  "That  would  be  worth  a  bagful  of 
gold  mohurs  on  the  north  road  now.  But,  as  matters 
stand,  we  must  fall  back  on  walnut  juice.  You  have 
blue  eyes  and  fair  hair,  alack,  yet  must  we  — 

"  What !  Wouldst  thou  make  me  a  brother  of  thine  ?  " 
demanded  Malcolm,  understanding  that  the  walnut 
juice  was  intended  to  darken  his  skin. 

"There  is  no  other  way,  huzoor.  This  is  no  ride 
of  a  night.  We  shall  be  seven  days,  let  us  go  at  the 
best,  and  meeting  budmashes  at  every  mile.  If  you 
did  not  talk  Urdu  like  one  of  us,  sahib,  I  should  bid 
you  die  here  in  peace  rather  than  fall  in  the  first  village. 
Still,  we  may  have  luck,  and  you  can  bandage  your 
hair  and  forehead  and  swear  that  those  cursed  Fer- 
inghis  nearly  cut  your  scalp  off.  But  you  must  be 
rubbed  all  over,  sahib,  until  you  are  the  color  of 
brown  leather,  for  we  can  have  no  patches  of  white 

252 


Why  Malcolm  Did  Not  Write 

skin  showing  where,  perchance,   your    garments  are 
rent." 

Malcolm  saw  the  wisdom  of  the  suggestion  and 
fell  hi  with  it.  While  Chumru  went  to  compound 
walnut  juice  in  the  nearest  bazaar,  he,  in  pursuance 
of  the  plan  they  had  concocted  together,  got  a  native 
writer  to  compile  a  letter  which  purported  to  emanate 
from  Nana  Sahib,  and  was  addressed  to  Bahadur 
Shah.  It  was  a  very  convincing  document.  Malcolm 
contributed  a  garbled  history  of  recent  events,  and  one 
of  the  Brahmin's  seals,  which  came  into  Havelock's 
possession  when  Cawnpore  was  occupied,  lent  veri- 
similitude to  the  script. 

Then  the  Englishman  covered  himself  with  an  oily 
compound  that  Chumru  assured  him  would  darken 
his  skin  effectually  before  morning,  though  the  present 
effect  was  more  obvious  to  the  nose  than  to  the  eye. 
Chumru  donned  his  rissaldar  Brahmin's  uniform  and 
Malcolm  secured  a  similar  outfit  from  a  native  officer 
on  the  staff.  Well-armed  and  well-mounted  the  pair 
crossed  the  Ganges  north  of  Bithoor,  gained  the  Grand 
Trunk  Road  and  were  far  from  the  British  column 
when  they  drew  rein  for  their  first  halt  of  more  than 
an  hour's  duration. 

They  had  adventures  galore  on  the  road  to  Delhi, 
but  Chumru's  repertory  of  oaths  anent  the  Nazarenes, 
and  Malcolm's  dignified  hauteur  as  a  messenger  of  the 
man  who  ranked  higher  in  the  native  world  than  the 
octogenarian  king,  carried  them  through  without 
grave  risk.  True,  they  had  a  close  shave  or  two. 

253 


The  Red  Year 

Once  a  suspicious  sepoy  who  knew  every  native 
officer  in  the  7th  Cavalry,  to  which  corps  "Rissaldar 
Ali  Khan"  was  supposed  to  belong,  had  to  be  quietly 
choked  to  death  within  earshot  of  a  score  of  his  own 
comrades  who  were  marching  to  the  Mogul  capital. 
On  another  occasion,  a  moulvie,  or  Mohammedan 
priest,  was  nearly  the  cause  of  their  undoing.  Mal- 
colm was  not  sufficiently  expert  in  the  ritual  of  the 
Reka  and  this  shortcoming  aroused  the  devotee's  ire, 
but  he  was  calmed  by  Chumru's  assurance  that  his 
excellent  friend,  Laiq  Ahmed,  was  still  suffering  from 
the  wound  inflicted  by  the  condemned  Giaours,  and 
the  storm  blew  over. 

These  incidents  simply  served  to  enliven  a  tedious 
journey.  Its  main  features  were  climatic  discomfort 
and  positive  starvation.  Rain  storms,  hot  winds, 
sweltering  intervals  of  intolerable  heat  —  these  were 
vagaries  of  nature  and  might  be  endured.  But  the 
absence  of  food  was  a  more  serious  matter.  The 
passage  to  and  fro  of  rebel  detachments  had  converted 
the  Grand  Trunk  Road  into  a  wilderness.  The  sepoys 
paid  for  nothing  and  looted  Mohammedans  and 
Hindus  alike.  After  two  months  of  constant  pilfering 
the  unhappy  ryots  had  little  left.  For  the  most  part 
they  deserted  their  hovels,  gathered  such  few  valuables 
as  had  escaped  the  human  locusts  who  devoured  their 
substance,  and  either  retreated  to  remote  villages  or 
boldly  sought  a  living  in  some  other  province.  In- 
deed, it  may  be  said  in  all  candor  that  the  Mutiny 
caused  far  more  misery  to  the  great  mass  of  the  people 

254 


Why  Malcolm  Did  Not  Write 

than  to  the  foreign  rulers  against  whom  it  was  supposed 
to  be  directed.  The  sufferings  of  the  English  residents 
in  India  were  terrible  and  the  treatment  meted  out 
to  them  was  unspeakably  vile,  but  for  one  English  life 
sacrificed  during  the  country's  red  year  there  were 
five  hundred  natives  killed  by  the  very  men  who  pro- 
fessed to  defend  their  interests. 

Malcolm  and  Chumru  were  given  proof  in  plenty 
of  this  fact  as  they  rode  along.  Generations  of  local 
feuds  had  taught  the  villagers  to  construct  their  rude 
shanties  in  such  wise  that  any  place  of  fairly  large 
population  formed  a  strong  fort.  Where  the  ryots 
were  collected  in  sufficient  numbers  to  render  such  a 
proceeding  possible,  they  armed  themselves  not  only 
against  the  British  but  against  all  the  world. 

Many  times  the  travelers  were  fired  at  by  men  who 
took  them  for  sepoys,  and  they  often  found  active 
hostilities  in  progress  between  a  party  of  desperate 
rebels  who  wanted  food  and  a  horde  of  sturdy  villagers 
who  refused  to  treat  with  men  in  any  sort  of  uniform. 

Still,  they  managed  to  live.  In  the  fields  they  found 
ripening  grain  and  an  abundance  of  that  small  millet 
or  pulse-pea  known  as  gram,  which  is  the  staple  food 
of  horses  in  India.  Occasionally  Malcolm  shot  a 
peacock,  but  shooting  birds  with  a  revolver  is  a  diffi- 
cult sport  and  wasteful  of  ammunition.  Where  hares 
were  plentiful  Chumru  seldom  failed  to  snare  one 
during  the  night.  These  were  feast  days.  At  other 
times  they  chewed  millet  and  were  thankful  for  small 
mercies. 

255 


The  Red  Year 

The  journey  occupied  nearly  twice  the  time  of  their 
original  estimate.  Nejdi,  good  horse  as  he  was,  wanted 
a  rest;  Chumru's  steed  was  liable  to  break  down  any 
hour;  and  it  was  a  sheer  impossibility  to  obtain  a 
remount  in  that  wasted  tract. 

All  things  considered  it  was  a  wonderful  achieve- 
ment when,  on  the  evening  of  the  eleventh  day,  they 
began  their  last  march. 

They  planned  matters  so  that  the  Jumna  lay  between 
them  and  their  goal.  When  they  left  the  tope  of  trees 
in  which  they  had  slept  away  the  hot  hours  their 
ostensible  aim  was  the  bridge  of  boats  which  carried 
the  Meerut  road  across  the  river  into  the  imperial  city. 

That  was  their  story  if  they  fell  in  with  company. 
In  reality  they  meant  to  leave  the  dangerous  locality 
with  the  best  speed  their  horses  were  capable  of. 
There  could  be  no  doubt  that  Delhi  was  the  stronghold 
of  the  mutineers.  Even  discounting  by  ninety  per  cent 
the  grandiloquent  stories  they  heard,  it  was  evident 
that  the  British  still  held  the  ridge,  but  were  rather 
besieged  than  besiegers.  For  the  rest,  the  natives 
were  assured  that  the  foreign  rule  had  passed  forever. 
Their  version  of  the  position  was  that  "great  fighting 
took  place  daily  and  the  Nazarenes  were  being  slaugh- 
tered in  hundreds." 

The  one  statement  nullified  the  other.  Malcolm 
reasoned,  correctly  as  it  happened,  that  the  British 
force  was  able  to  hold  its  own,  but  not  strong  enough 
to  take  the  city;  that  the  Punjab  was  quiet  and  that 
the  general  in  command  on  the  ridge  was  biding  his 

256 


Why  Malcolm  Did  Not  Write 

time  until  reenforcements  arrived.  Therefore  if  Chumru 
and  he  could  strike  the  left  bank  of  the  Jumna, 
a  few  miles  above  Delhi,  there  should  be  no  difficulty 
in  crossing  the  stream  and  reaching  the  British  camp. 

For  once,  a  well-laid  scheme  did  not  reveal  unfore- 
seen pitfalls.  He  had  the  good  fortune  to  fall  in  with 
a  corps  of  irregular  horse  scouting  for  a  half-expected 
flank  attack  by  the  rebels,  in  the  gray  dawn  of  the 
morning  of  August  11.  Chumru  and  he  were  nearly 
shot  by  mistake,  but  that  is  ever  the  risk  of  those  who 
wear  an  enemy's  uniform,  and  by  this  time,  John 
Company's  livery  was  quite  discredited  in  the  land 
which  he,  in  his  corporate  capacity,  had  opened  up  to 
Europeans. 

Moreover,  between  dirt  and  walnut-stain  Malcolm 
was  like  an  animated  bronze  statue,  and  it  was  good 
to  see  the  incredulous  expression  on  a  brother  officer's 
face  when  he  rode  up  with  the  cheery  cry: 

"By  Jove,  old  fellow,  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  I  am 
Malcolm  of  the  3d  Cavalry,  and  I  have  brought  news 
from  General  Havelock." 

The  leader  of  the  scouting  party,  a  stalwart  sub- 
altern of  dragoons,  thought  that  it  was  a  piece  of  im- 
pudence on  the  part  of  this  "dark"  stranger  to  address 
him  so  familiarly. 

"  I  happen  to  be  acquainted  with  Mr.  Malcolm  - 
he  began. 

"Not  so  well  as  I  know  him,  Saumarez,"  said  Frank, 
laughing.  He  had  not  counted  on  his  disguise  being 
so  complete.  But  the  laugh  proved  his  identity,  for 

257 


The  Red  Year 

there  is  more  distinctive  character  in  a  man's  mirth 
than  in  any  other  inflection  of  the  voice. 

Saumarez  testified  to  an  amazed  recognition  in  the 
approved  manner  of  a  dragoon. 

"Either  you  are  Malcolm  or  I  am  bewitched,"  he 
cried.  Then  he  looked  at  Chumru. 

"This  gentleman,  no  doubt,  is  at  least  a  brigadier," 
he  went  on.  "But,  joking  apart,  have  you  really 
ridden  from  Allahabad  ?  " 

The  question  showed  the  lack  of  information  of 
events  farther  south  that  obtained  in  the  Punjab.  By 
this  time  the  sepoys  had  torn  down  the  telegraph  posts 
and  cut  the  wires  in  all  directions.  Even  between 
Cawnpore  and  Calcutta,  whenever  they  crossed  the 
Grand  Trunk  Road  they  destroyed  the  telegraph. 
As  one  of  them  said,  looking  up  at  a  damaged  pole 
which  was  about  to  serve  as  his  gallows: 

"Ah,  you  are  able  to  hang  me  now  because  that 
cursed  wire  strangled  all  of  us  in  our  sleep." 

His  metaphor  was  correct  enough.  There  is  no 
telling  what  might  have  been  the  course  of  history  in 
India  if  the  sepoys  had  stopped  telegraphic  communica- 
tion from  the  North  to  Calcutta  early  in  May. 

Malcolm  gave  Saumarez  a  summary  of  affairs  in  the 
Northwest  Provinces  as  they  rode  on  ahead  of  the 
troop. 

"And  now,"  he  said,  "how  do  matters  stand  here?" 

"You  have  used  the  right  word,"  said  the  other. 
"Stand!  That  is  just  what  we  are  doing.  We've 
had  three  commander-in-chiefs  and  each  one  is  more 

258 


Why  Malcolm  Did  Not  Write 

timid  than  his  predecessor.  Thank  goodness  Nichol- 
son arrived  four  days  ago.  Things  will  begin  to  move 
now." 

"Is  that  the  Peshawar  Nicholson?"  asked  Frank, 
remembering  that  Hodson  had  spoken  of  a  man  of 
that  name,  a  man  who  would  "horse-whip  into  the 
saddle"  a  general  who  feared  to  assume  respon- 
sibility. 

"Yes.  Haven't  you  seen  him?  By  gad,  he's  a 
wonder.  A  giant  of  a  fellow  with  an  eye  like  a  hawk 
and  a  big  black  beard  that  seems,  somehow,  to  suggest 
a  blacksmith.  He  turned  up  at  our  mess  on  the  first 
evening  he  was  in  camp.  Everybody  was  laughing 
and  joking  as  usual  and  he  never  said  a  word.  I 
didn't  understand  it  at  the  time,  but  I  noticed  that 
Nicholson  just  glowered  at  each  man  who  told  a  funny 
story,  and,  by  degrees,  we  were  all  sitting  like  mutes 
at  a  funeral.  Then  he  said,  in  a  deep  voice  that  made 
us  jump :  '  When  some  of  you  gentlemen  can  spare  me 
a  moment  I  shall  be  glad  to  hear  what  you  have  been 
doing  here  during  the  last  ten  weeks.'  There  was  no 
sneer  in  his  words.  We  have  had  fighting  enough, 
Heaven  knows,  but  we  felt  that  by  'doing'  he  meant 
*  attacking,'  not  'defending.'  Sure  as  death,  he  will 
create  a  stir.  Indeed,  the  leaven  is  working  already. 
He  sent  me  out  here  this  morning,  as  he  has  gone  to 
meet  the  movable  column  from  Lahore,  and  there 
was  a  rumor  of  a  sortie  from  Delhi  to  cut  it  off." 

Malcolm  fresh  from  association  with  Havelock 
realized  that  a  grave  and  serious-minded  soldier  could 

259 


The  Red  Year 

ill  brook  the  jests  and  idle  talk  that  dominated  the 
average  military  mess  of  the  period. 

"Nicholson  sounds  like  the  right  man  in  the  right 
place,"  he  commented. 

The  dragoon  vouched  for  it  emphatically. 

"He  has  put  an  end  to  pony-racing  and  quoits," 
said  he,  "and  there  is  to  be  no  more  fighting  in  our 
shirt  sleeves.  Bear  in  mind,  we  have  had  a  deuce  of 
a  time.  I've  been  in  twenty-one  fights  myself,  and 
that  is  not  all.  The  sepoys  usually  swarm  out  hell- 
for-leather  and  we  rush  to  meet  them.  There  is  a 
scrimmage  for  an  hour  or  so,  we  shove  'em  back, 
Hodson  gets  in  a  bit  of  saber-work,  we  pick  up  the 
wounded,  tell  off  a  burial  party,  and  start  a  cricket 
match  or  a  gymkhana.  Of  course  the  fighting  is  stiff 
while  it  lasts  and  my  regiment  has  lost  its  two  best 
bowlers,  a  really  sound  bat  and  a  crack  rider  in  the 
pony  heats.  Still  if  we  don't  lose  any  ground  we 
gain  none,  and  I  can't  help  agreeing  with  Nicholson 
that  war  isn't  a  picnic." 

Frank  managed  not  to  smile  at  the  naivete  of  his 
companion.  Though  Saumarez  was  nearly  his  own 
age  he  felt  that  their  difference  in  rank  was  not  nearly 
so  great  as  the  divergence  in  their  conception  of  the 
magnitude  of  the  task  before  Britain  in  India.  Never- 
theless Saumarez  saw  that  Nicholson  was  a  force,  and 
that  was  something. 

"Is  the  Hodson  you  mention  the  same  man  who 
rode  from  Kurnaul  to  Meerut  before  the  affair  of 
Ghazi-ud-din-Nuggur  ?  "  he  asked. 

260 


Why  Malcolm  Did  Not  Write 

"Yes,  same  chap.  A  regular  firebrand  and  no 
mistake.  He  has  gathered  a  crowd  of  dare-devils 
known  as  Hodson's  Horse,  and  they  go  into  action 
with  a  dash  that  I  thought  was  only  to  be  found  in 
regular  cavalry.  But  here  we  are  at  our  ghat.  That 
is  a  weedy-looking  Arab  you  are  riding  —  plenty  of 
bone,  though.  Will  he  go  aboard  a  budgerow  without 
any  fuss  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes.  He  will  do  most  things,"  was  the  quiet 
reply. 

Malcolm  dismounted  and  fondled  Nejdi's  black 
muzzle.  How  little  the  light-hearted  dragoon  guessed 
what  those  two  had  endured  together!  Nejdi  as  a 
weed  was  a  new  role.  For  an  instant  Frank  thought 
of  making  a  match  with  his  friend's  best  charger  after 
Nejdi  had  had  a  week's  rest. 

It  was  altogether  a  changed  audience  that  Have- 
lock's  messenger  secured  that  evening  when  Nicholson 
rode  to  the  ridge  with  the  troops  sent  from  the  north 
by  Sir  John  Lawrence,  Edwardes,  and  Montgomery, 
while  the  generosity  of  Bartle  Frere  in  sending  from 
Scinde  regiments  he  could  ill  spare  should  be  mentioned 
in  the  same  breath. 

Saumarez's  "  giant  of  a  fellow  "  was  there,  and  Arch- 
dale  Wilson,  the  commander-in-chief,  and  Neville 
Chamberlain,  and  Baird-Smith,  and  Hervey  Greathed. 
Inspired  by  the  presence  of  such  men  Malcolm  entered 
upon  a  full  account  of  occurrences  at  Lucknow,  Cawn- 
pore  and  elsewhere  during  the  preceding  month.  His 
hearers  were  aware  of  Henry  Lawrence's  death  and  the 

261 


The  Red  Year 

beginning  of  the  siege  of  Lucknow.  They  had  heard 
of  Massacre  Ghat,  the  Well,  and  Havelock's  advance, 
but  they  were  dependent  on  native  rumor  and  an  occa- 
sional spy  for  their  information,  and  Frank's  epic 
narrative  was  the  first  complete  and  true  history  that 
had  been  given  them. 

He  was  seldom  interrupted.  Occasionally  when  he 
was  tempted  to  slur  over  some  of  the  dangers  he  had 
overcome  personally,  a  question  from  one  or  other  of 
the  five  would  force  him  to  be  more  explicit. 

Naturally,  he  spoke  freely  of  the  magnificent  ex- 
ploits of  Havelock's  column  and  he  saw  Nicholson 
ticking  off  each  engagement,  each  tremendous  march, 
each  fine  display  of  strategic  genius  on  the  part  of  the 
general,  with  an  approving  nod  and  shake  of  his  great 
beard. 

"You  have  done  well,  young  man,"  said  General 
Wilson  when  Frank's  long  recital  came  to  an  end. 
"What  rank  did  you  hold  on  General  Havelock's 
staff?" 

"That  of  major,  sir." 

"You  are  confirmed  in  the  same  rank  here.  I  have 
no  doubt  your  services  will  be  further  recognized  at 
the  close  of  the  campaign." 

•«, "  If  Havelock  had  the  second  thousand  men  he 
asked  for  he  would  now  be  marching  here,"  growled 
Nicholson. 

No  one  spoke  for  a  little  while.  The  under  meaning 
of  the  giant's  words  was  plain.  Havelock  had  moved 
while  they  stood  still.  The  criticism  was  a  trifle  unjust, 

262 


Why  Malcolm  Did  Not  Write 

perhaps,  but  men  with  Napoleonic  ideas  are  impatient 
of  the  limitations  that  afflict  their  less  powerful  brethren. 
If  India  were  governed  exclusively  by  Nicholsons, 
Lawrences,  Havelocks,  Hodsons,  and  Neills,  there 
would  never  have  been  a  mutiny.  It  was  Britain's 
rare  good  fortune  that  they  existed  at  all  and  came  to 
the  front  when  the  fiery  breath  of  war  had  scorched 
and  shriveled  the  nonentities  who  held  power  and 
place  at  the  outbreak  of  hostilities. 

Then  some  one  passed  a  remark  on  Frank's  appear- 
ance. He  was  bareheaded.  The  fair  hair  and  blue 
eyes  that  had  perplexed  Chumru  looked  strangely  out 
of  keeping  with  his  brown  skin. 

"How  in  the  world  did  you  manage  to  escape  de- 
tection during  your  ride  north?"  he  was  asked. 

He  explained  Chumru 's  device,  and  they  laughed. 
Like  Havelock,  Baird-Smith  thought  the  Mohammedan 
would  make  a  good  soldier. 

"With  all  his  pluck,  sir,  he  is  absolutely  afraid  of 
using  a  pistol,"  said  Frank.  "He  was  offered  the 
highest  rank  as  a  native  officer,  but  he  refused  it." 

"Then,  by  gad,  we  must  make  him  a  zemindar. 
Tell  him  I  said  so  and  that  we  all  agree  on  that  point." 

When  Frank  gave  the  message  to  Chumru  it  was 
received  with  a  demoniac  grin. 

"By  the  Holy  Kaaba,"  came  the  gleeful  cry,  "I  told 
the  Moulvie  of  Fyzabad  that  I  was  in  the  way  of  earn- 
ing a  jaghir,  and  behold,  it  is  promised  to  me ! " 

Next  day  Malcolm,  somewhat  lighter  in  tint  after  a 
hot  bath,  made  himself  acquainted  with  the  camp. 

263 


The  Red  Year 

Seldom  has  war  brought  together  such  a  motley  as- 
semblage of  races  as  gathered  on  the  Ridge  during  the 
siege  of  Delhi.  The  far-off  isles  of  the  sea  were  repre- 
sented by  men  from  every  shire,  and  Britain's  mixed 
heritage  in  the  East  sent  a  bewildering  variety  of  types. 
Small,  compactly  built  Ghoorkahs  hobnobbed  with 
stalwart  Highlanders;  lively  Irishmen  made  friends  of 
gaunt,  saturnine  Pathans;  bearded  Sikhs  extended 
grave  courtesies  to  pert-nosed  Cockneys;  "gallant  little 
Wales"  might  be  seen  tending  the  needs  of  wounded 
Mohammedans  from  the  Punjab.  The  language  bar 
proved  no  obstacle  to  the  men  of  the  rank  and  file. 
A  British  private  would  sit  and  smoke  in  solemn  and 
friendly  silence  with  a  hook-nosed  Afghan,  and  the 
two  would  rise  cheerfully  after  an  hour  passed  in  that 
fashion  with  nothing  in  common  between  them  save 
the  memory  of  some  deadly  thrust  averted  when  they 
fought  one  day  in  the  hollow  below  Hindu  Rao's  house, 
or  a  draught  of  water  tendered  when  one  or  other  lay 
gasping  and  almost  done  to  death  in  a  struggle  for  the 
village  of  Subsee  Mundee. 

The  British  soldier,  who  has  fought  and  bled  in  so 
many  lands,  showed  his  remarkable  adaptability  to 
circumstances  by  the  way  in  wThich  he  made  himself 
at  home  on  the  reverse  slope  of  the  Ridge.  A  compact 
town  had  sprung  up  there  with  its  orderly  lines  of 
huts  and  tents,  its  long  rows  of  picketed  horses,  com- 
missariat bullocks  and  elephants,  its  churches,  hos- 
pitals, playgrounds,  race-course  and  cemetery. 

Malcolm  took  in  the  general  scheme  of  things  while 
264 


Why  Malcolm  Did  Not  Write 

he  walked  along  the  Ridge  towards  the  most  advanced 
picket  at  Hindu  Rao's  House.  On  the  left  front  lay 
Delhi,  beautiful  as  a  dream  in  the  brilliant  sunshine. 
The  intervening  valley  was  scarred  and  riven  with 
water-courses,  strewn  with  rocks,  covered  with  ruined 
mosques,  temples,  tombs,  and  houses,  and  smothered 
in  an  overgrowth  of  trees,  shrubs,  and  long  grasses. 
Roads  were  few,  but  tortuous  paths  ran  everywhere, 
and  it  was  easy  to  see  how  the  rebels  could  steal  out 
unobserved  during  the  night  and  creep  close  up  to 
the  pickets  before  they  revealed  their  whereabouts  by 
a  burst  of  musketry.  Happily  they  never  learnt 
to  reserve  their  fire.  Every  man  would  blaze  away 
at  the  first  alarm,  and  then,  of  course,  in  those  days 
of  muzzle-loaders,  the  more  resolute  British  troops 
could  get  to  close  quarters  without  serious  loss.  Still 
the  men  who  held  the  Ridge  had  many  casualties,  and 
until  Nicholson  came  the  rebel  artillery  was  infinitely 
more  powerful  than  the  British.  Behind  his  movable 
column,  however,  marched  a  strong  siege  train.  When 
that  arrived  the  gunners  could  make  their  presence 
felt.  Thus  far  not  one  of  the  enemy's  guns  had  been 
dismounted. 

Frank  had  ocular  proof  of  their  strength  in  this  arm 
before  he  reached  Hindu  Rao's  house.  The  Guides, 
picturesque  in  their  loose,  gray-colored  shirts  and  big 
turbans,  sent  one  of  their  cavalry  squadrons  over  the 
Ridge  on  some  errand.  They  moved  at  a  sharp  canter, 
but  the  Delhi  gunners  had  got  the  range  and  were 
ready,  and  half  a  dozen  eighteen-pound  balls  crashed 

265 


The  Red  Year 

into  the  trees  and  rocks  almost  in  the  exact  line  of  ad- 
vance. A  couple  of  guns  on  the  British  right  took 
up  the  challenge,  and  the  duel  went  on  long  after 
the  Guides  were  swallowed  up  in  the  green  depths  of 
the  valley. 

At  last  Malcolm  stood  in  the  shelter-trench  of  the 
picket  and  gazed  at  the  city  which  was  the  hub  of  the 
Mutiny.  Beyond  the  high,  red-brick  walls  he  saw 
the  graceful  dome  and  minarets  of  the  Jumma  Musjid, 
while  to  the  left  towered  the  frowning  battlements 
of  the  King's  palace.  To  the  left  again,  and  nearer, 
was  the  small  dome  of  St.  James's  Church  with  its 
lead  roof  riddled  then,  as  it  remains  to  this  day, 
with  the  bullets  fired  by  the  rebels  in  the  effort  to  dis- 
lodge the  ball  and  cross  which  surmounted  it.  For 
the  rest  his  eyes  wandered  over  a  noble  array  of 
mosques  and  temples,  flat-roofed  houses  of  nobles  of 
the  court  and  residences  of  the  wealthy  merchants 
who  dwelt  in  the  imperial  city. 

The  far-flung  panorama  behind  the  walls  had  a 
curiously  peaceful  aspect.  Even  the  puffs  of  white 
smoke  from  the  guns,  curling  upwards  like  tiny 
clouds  in  the  lazy  air,  had  no  tremors  until  a  heavy 
shot  hurtled  overhead  or  struck  a  resounding  blow 
at  the  already  ruined  walls  of  the  big  house  near  the 
post. 

The  61st  were  on  picket  that  day  and  one  of  the 
men,  speaking  with  a  strong  Gloucestershire  accent, 
said  to  Malcolm: 

"Well,  zur,  they  zay  we'll  be  a-lootin'  there  zoon." 
266 


Why  Malcolm  Did  Not  Write 

"I  hope  so,"  was  the  reply,  but  the  phrase  set  him 
a-thinking. 

Within  that  shining  palace  most  probably  was  a 
woman  to  whom  he  owed  his  life.  In  another  palace, 
many  a  hundred  miles  away,  was  another  woman  for 
whom  he  would  willingly  risk  that  life  if  only  he  could 
save  her  from  the  fate  that  the  private  of  the  61st  was 
gloating  over  in  anticipation. 

What  a  mad  jumble  of  opposites  was  this  useless 
and  horrible  war!  At  any  rate  why  could  not  women 
be  kept  out  of  it  and  let  men  adjust  their  quarrel  with 
the  stern  arbitrament  of  sword  and  gun! 

Then  he  recalled  Chumru's  words  anent  the  Prin- 
cess Roshinara,  and  the  fancy  seized  him  that  if  he 
were  destined  to  enter  Delhi  with  the  besiegers  he  would 
surely  strive  to  repay  the  service  she  had  rendered 
Winifred  and  Mayne  and  himself  at  Bithoor. 

That  is  the  way  man  proposes  and  that  is  why  the 
gods  smile  when  they  dispose  of  man's  affairs. 


€67 


CHAPTER  XV 

AT  THE   KING'S   COURT 

WITHOUT  guns  to  breach  the  walls,  even  the  heroic 
Nicholson  was  powerless  against  a  strongly  fortified 
city. 

The  siege  train  was  toiling  slowly  across  the  Punjab, 
but  the  setting  in  of  the  monsoon  rendered  the  transit 
of  heavy  cannon  a  laborious  task. 

On  the  24th  of  August  an  officer  rode  in  from  the 
town  of  Baghput,  twenty-five  miles  to  the  north,  to 
report  that  the  train  was  parked  there  for  the  night. 

"  What  sort  of  escort  accompanies  it  ?  "  asked  Nich- 
olson, when  the  news  reached  him. 

"Almost  exclusively  natives  and  few  in  numbers  at 
that,"  he  was  told. 

An  hour  later  a  native  spy  from  Delhi  came  to  the 
camp. 

"  The  mutineers  are  mustering  for  a  big  march,"  he 
said.  "They  are  providing  guns,  litters,  and  commis- 
sariat camels,  and  the  story  goes  that  they  mean  to 
fight  the  Feringhis  at  Bahadurgarh." 

The  place  named  was  a  large  village,  ten  miles 
northwest  of  the  ridge,  and  Nicholson  guessed  in- 

268 


At  the  King's  Court 

stantly  that  the  sepoys  had  planned  the  daring  coup 
of  cutting  off  the  siege  train.  With  him,  to  hear  was 
to  act.  He  formed  a  column  of  two  thousand  men 
and  a  battery  of  field  artillery  and  left  the  camp  at 
dawn  on  the  25th.  If  a  forced  march  could  accomplish 
it,  he  meant  not  only  to  frustrate  the  enemy's  design 
but  inflict  a  serious  defeat  on  them. 

Malcolm  went  with  him  and  never  had  he  taken 
part  in  a  harder  day's  work.  The  road  was  a  bullock 
track,  a  swamp  of  mud  amid  the  larger  swamp  of  the 
ploughed  land  and  jungle.  Horses  and  men  floundered 
through  it  as  best  they  might.  The  guns  often  sank 
almost  to  the  trunnions;  many  a  time  the  infantry  had 
to  help  elephants  and  bullocks  to  haul  them  out. 

In  seven  hours  the  column  only  marched  nine  miles, 
and  then  came  the  disheartening  news  that  the  spy's 
information  was  wrong.  The  rebels  had,  indeed,  sent 
out  a  strong  force,  but  they  were  at  Nujufgarh,  miles 
away  to  the  right. 

Officers  and  men  ate  a  slight  meal,  growled  a  bit, 
and  swung  off  in  the  new  direction.  At  four  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon  they  found  the  sepoy  army  drawn  up 
behind  a  canal,  with  its  right  protected  by  another 
canal,  and  the  center  and  left  posted  in  fortified  villages. 
Evidently,  too,  a  stout  serai,  or  inn,  a  square  building 
surrounding  a  quadrangle  set  apart  for  the  lodgment  of 
camels  and  merchandise  was  regarded  as  a  stronghold. 
Here  were  placed  six  guns  and  the  walls  were  loopholed 
for  musketry. 

In  a  word,  had  the  mutineers  been  equal  in  courage 
269 


The  Red  Year 

and  morale  to  the  British  troops,  the  resultant  attack 
must  have  ended  in  disastrous  failure. 

But  Nicholson  was  a  leader  who  took  the  measure 
of  his  adversaries.  Above  all,  he  did  not  shirk  a  battle 
because  it  was  risky. 

The  61st  made  a  flank  march,  forded  the  branch 
canal  under  fire  and  were  ordered  to  lie  down.  Nich- 
olson rode  up  to  them,  a  commanding  figure  on  a 
seventeen-hands  English  hunter. 

"Now,  61st,"  he  said,  "I  want  you  to  take  that 
serai  and  the  guns.  You  all  know  what  Sir  Colin 
Campbell  told  you  at  Chillianwallah,  and  you  have 
heard  that  he  said  the  same  thing  at  the  battle  of  the 
Alma.  'Hold  your  fire  until  you  see  the  whites  of 
their  eyes,'  he  said,  '  and  then,  my  boys,  we  will  make 
short  work  of  it.'  Come  on!  Let  us  follow  his  advice 
here!" 

Swinging  his  horse  around,  he  rode  straight  at  serai 
and  battery.  Grape-shot  and  bullets  sang  the  death- 
song  of  many  a  brave  fellow,  but  Nicholson  was  un- 
touched. The  61st  leaped  to  their  feet  with  a  yell, 
rushed  after  him,  and  did  not  fire  a  shot  until  they 
were  within  twenty  yards  of  the  enemy.  A  volley  and 
the  bayonet  did  the  rest.  They  captured  the  guns, 
carried  the  serai,  and  pelted  the  flying  rebels  with 
their  own  artillery.  The  1st  Punjabis  had  a  stiff  fight 
before  they  killed  every  man  in  the  village  of  Nu jufgarh 
on  the  left,  but  the  battle  was  won,  practically  in 
defiance  of  every  tenet  of  military  tactics,  when  the 
61st  forced  their  way  into  the  serai. 

270 


At  the  King's  Court 

Utterly  exhausted,  the  soldiers  slept  on  the  soddened 
ground.  That  night,  smoking  a  cigar  with  his  staff, 
Nicholson  commented  on  the  skill  shown  in  the  enemy's 
disposition. 

"I  asked  a  wounded  havildar  who  it  was  that  led 
the  column,  and  he  told  me  the  commander  was  a 
new  arrival,  a  subadar  of  the  8th  Irregular  Cavalry, 
named  Akhab  Khan,"  he  said. 

Malcolm  started.  Akhab  Khan  was  the  young  sowar 
whose  life  he  had  spared  at  Cawnpore  when  Winifred 
and  her  uncle  and  himself  were  escaping  from  Bithoor. 

"I  knew  him  well,  sir,"  he  could  not  help  saying. 
"  He  was  not  a  subadar,  but  a  lance-corporal.  He  was 
one  of  a  small  escort  that  accompanied  me  from  Agra 
to  the  south,  but  he  is  a  smart  soldier,  and  not  at  all 
of  the  cutthroat  type." 

Nicholson  looked  at  him  fixedly.  He  seemed  to  be 
considering  some  point  suggested  by  Malcolm's  words. 

"  If  men  like  him  are  obtaining  commands  in  Delhi 
they  will  prove  awkward,"  was  his  brief  comment,  and 
Frank  did  not  realize  what  his  chief  was  revolving  in 
his  mind  until,  three  days  later,  the  Brigadier  asked 
him  to  don  his  disguise  again,  ride  to  the  southward, 
and  endeavor  to  fall  in  with  a  batch  of  mutineers  on 
the  way  to  Delhi.  Then  he  could  enter  the  city,  note 
the  dispositions  for  the  defense,  and  escape  by  joining 
an  attacking  party  during  one  of  the  many  raids  on 
the  ridge. 

"You  will  be  rendering  a  national  service  by  your 
deed,"  said  Nicholson,  gazing  into  Frank's  troubled 

£71 


The  Red  Year 

eyes  with  that  magnetic  power  that  bent  all  men  to 
his  will.  "  I  know  it  is  a  distasteful  business,  but  you 
are  able  to  carry  it  through,  and  five  hours  of  your 
observation  will  be  worth  five  weeks  of  native  reports. 
Will  you  doit?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Malcolm,  choking  back  the  protest 
on  his  lips.  He  could  not  trust  himself  to  say  more. 
He  refused  even  to  allow  his  thoughts  to  dwell  on  such 
a  repellent  subject.  A  spy!  What  soldier  likes  the 
office  ?  It  stifles  ambition.  It  robs  war  of  its  glamour. 
It  may  call  for  a  display  of  the  utmost  bravery  —  that 
calm  courage  of  facing  an  ignoble  death  alone,  unheeded, 
forgotten,  which  is  the  finest  test  of  chivalry,  but  it 
can  never  commend  itself  to  a  high-spirited  youth. 

Frank  had  already  won  distinction  in  the  field ;  it  was 
hard  to  be  chosen  now  for  such  a  doubtful  enterprise. 

His  worst  hour  came  when  he  sought  Chumru's  aid 
in  the  matter  of  walnut-juice. 

"  WTiat  is  toward,  sahib  ?  "  asked  the  Mohammedan. 
"Have  we  not  seen  enough  of  India  that  we  must  set 
forth  once  more  ?  " 

"This  tune  I  go  alone,"  said  Frank,  sadly.  "Per- 
chance I  shall  not  be  long  absent.  You  will  remain 
here  in  charge  of  my  baggage  and  of  certain  letters 
which  I  shall  give  you." 

"  Why  am  I  cast  aside,  sahib  ?  " 

"  Nay.  Say  not  so.  'Tis  a  matter  that  I  must  deal 
with  myself,  and  not  of  my  own  wish,  Chumru.  I 
obey  the  general-sahib's  order." 

"  Jan  Nikkelsen-sahib  Bahadur  ?  " 
272 


At  the  King's  Court 

"Yes.  I  would  refuse  any  other.  But  haste  thee, 
for  time  presses." 

Chumru  went  off.  He  returned  in  half  an  hour,  to 
find  his  master  sealing  a  letter  addressed  to  "Miss 
Winifred  Mayne,  to  be  forwarded,  if  possible,  with 
the  Lucknow  Relief  Force." 

There  were  others  to  relatives  in  England,  and 
Frank  tied  them  in  a  small  packet. 

"  If  I  do  not  come  back  within  a  week  —  "  he  be^an. 

O 

"  Nay,  sahib,  give  not  instructions  to  me  in  the 
matter.  I  go  with  you." 

"It  is  impossible." 

"Huzoor,  it  is  the  order  of  Jan  Nikkelsen-sahib 
Bahadur.  He  says  I  will  be  useful,  and  he  hath 
promised  me  another  jaghir." 

The  Mohammedan's  statement  was  true  enough. 
He  had  waylaid  Nicholson  and  obtained  permission 
to  accompany  his  master.  Like  a  faithful  dog  he  was 
not  to  be  shaken  off,  and,  in  his  heart  of  hearts,  Malcolm 
was  glad  of  it. 

Their  preparations  were  made  with  the  utmost 
secrecy.  The  same  men  who  sold  Bahadur  Shah's 
cause  to  the  British  were  also  the  professed  spies  of 
the  rebels.  They  were  utterly  unreliable,  yet  their 
tale-bearing  in  Delhi  might  bring  instant  disaster  to 
Malcolm  and  his  native  comrade. 

Nejdi  was  in  good  condition  again  after  the  tre- 
mendous exertions  undergone  since  he  carried  his 
master  from  Lucknow.  Malcolm  was  in  two  minds 
whether  to  take  him  or  not,  but  the  chance  that  his 

273 


The  Red  Year 

life  might  depend  on  a  reliable  horse,  and,  perhaps,  a 
touch  of  the  gambler's  belief  in  luck,  swayed  his  judg- 
ment, and  Nejdi  was  saddled.  Chumru  rode  a  spare 
charger  which  Malcolm  had  purchased  at  the  sale  of 
a  dead  officer's  effects.  Fully  equipped  in  their  char- 
acter as  rebel  non-commissioned  officers,  the  two  rode 
forth,  crossed  the  Jumna,  reached  the  Meerut  road 
unchallenged  and  turned  their  horses'  heads  toward 
the  bridge  of  boats  that  debouched  beneath  the  walls 
of  the  King's  palace. 

Provided  they  met  some  stragglers  on  the  road  they 
meant  to  enter  the  city  with  the  dawn.  By  skilful 
expenditure  of  money  on  Malcolm's  part  and  the 
exercise  of  Chumru's  peculiar  inventiveness  in  main- 
taining a  flow  of  lurid  language,  they  counted  on 
keeping  their  new-found  comrades  in  tow  while  they 
made  the  tour  of  the  city.  The  curiosity  of  strangers 
would  be  quite  natural,  and  Malcolm  hoped  they 
might  be  able  to  slip  out  again  with  some  expedition 
planned  for  the  night  or  the  next  morning. 

Of  course,  having  undertaken  an  unpleasant  duty 
he  intended  to  carry  it  through.  If  he  did  not  learn 
the  nature  and  extent  of  the  enemy's  batteries,  the 
general  dispositions  for  the  defense  and  the  state  of 
feeling  among  the  different  sections  that  composed  the 
rebel  garrison,  he  must  perforce  remain  longer.  But 
that  was  in  the  lap  of  fate.  At  present  he  could  only 
plan  and  contrive  to  the  best  of  his  ability. 

Fortune  favored  the  adventurers  at  first.  They  en- 
countered a  score  of  ruffians  who  had  cut  themselves 

274 


At  the  King's  Court 

adrift  from  the  Gwalior  contingent.  Among  these 
strangers  Chumru  was  quickly  a  hero.  He  beguiled 
the  way  with  tales  of  derring-do  in  Oudh  and  the  Doab, 
and  discussed  the  future  of  all  unbelievers  with  an 
amazing  gusto.  Malcolm,  whose  head  was  shrouded 
in  a  gigantic  and  blood-stained  turban,  listened  with 
interest  to  his  servant's  account  of  the  actions  outside 
Cawnpore  and  on  the  road  to  Lucknow.  It  was 
excellent  fooling  to  hear  Chumru  detailing  the  whole- 
sale slaughter  of  the  Nazarenes,  while  the  victors, 
always  the  sepoys,  found  it  advisable  to  fall  back  on  a 
strategic  position  many  miles  in  the  rear  after  each 
desperate  encounter. 

In  this  hail-fellow-well-met  manner  the  party  crossed 
the  bridge,  were  interrogated  by  a  guard  at  the  Water 
Gate  and  admitted  to  the  fortress.  It  chanced  that  a 
first-rate  feud  was  in  progress,  and  the  officer,  whose  duty 
it  was  to  question  new  arrivals,  was  taking  part  in  it. 

Money  was  short  in  the  royal  treasury.  Many  thou- 
sands of  sepoys  had  neither  been  paid  nor  fed;  there 
was  a  quarrel  between  Mohammedans  and  Hindoos, 
because  the  former  insisted  on  slaughtering  cattle;  and 
the  more  respectable  citizens  were  clamoring  for  pro- 
tection from  the  rapacity,  insolence  and  lust  of  the 
swaggering  soldiers. 

That  very  day  matters  had  reached  a  climax.  Mal- 
colm found  a  brawling  mob  in  front  of  the  Lahore  gate 
of  the  palace.  He  caught  Chumru 's  eye  and  the  latter 
appealed  to  a  sepoy  for  information  as  to  the  cause  of 
the  racket. 

275 


The  Red  Year 

"The  King  of  Kings  hath  a  quarrel  with  his  son, 
Mirza  Moghul,  who  is  not  over  pleased  with  the  recent 
division  of  the  command,"  was  the  answer. 

"  What,  then  ?     Is  there  more  than  one  chief  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure.  Is  there  not  the  Council  of  the  Barah 
Topi?  (Twelve  Hats.)  Are  not  Bakht  Khan  and 
Akhab  Khan  in  charge  of  brigades  ?  Where  hast  thou 
been,  brother,  that  these  things  are  not  known  to  thee  ?  " 

"Be  patient  with  me,  I  pray  thee,  friend.  I  and 
twenty  more,  whom  thou  seest  here,  have  ridden  in 
within  the  hour.  We  come  to  join  the  Jehad,  and  we 
are  grieved  to  find  a  dispute  toward  when  we  expected 
to  be  led  against  the  infidels." 

The  sepoy  laughed  scornfully. 

"You  will  see  as  many  fights  here  as  outside  the 
walls,"  he  muttered,  and  moved  off,  for  men  were 
beginning  to  guard  their  tongues  in  Imperial  Delhi. 

A  rowdy  gang  of  full  five  hundred  armed  mutineers 
marched  up  and  hustled  the  mob  right  and  left  as  they 
forced  a  way  to  the  gate.  Their  words  and  attitude 
betokened  trouble.  The  opportunity  was  too  good  to 
be  lost.  Malcolm  dismounted,  gave  the  reins  to 
Chumru,  and  told  him  to  wait  his  return  under  some 
trees,  somewhat  removed  from  the  road,  for  Akhab 
Khan  had  sharp  eyes,  and  the  Mohammedan's  gro- 
tesque face  was  well  known  to  him.  Chumru  made  a 
fearsome  grimace,  but  Malcolm's  order  was  peremp- 
tory. Summoning  a  fruit-seller,  the  bearer  led  the 
Gwalior  men  to  the  rendezvous  named  and  distributed 
mangoes  amongst  them. 

276 


At  the  King's  Court 

Frank  joined  the  ruck  of  the  demonstrators  and 
passed  through  the  portals  of  the  magnificent  gate. 
A  long,  high-roofed  arcade,  spacious  as  the  nave  of  a 
cathedral,  with  raised  marble  platforms  for  merchants 
on  each  side,  gave  access  to  a  quadrangle.  In  the 
center  stood  a  fountain,  and  round  about  were  grassy 
lawns  and  beds  of  flowers. 

The  sepoys  tramped  on,  heedless  of  the  destruction 
they  caused  in  the  garden.  They  passed  through  the 
noble  Nakar  Khana,  or  music-room,  and  entered 
another  and  larger  square,  at  the  further  end  of  which 
stood  the  Diwan-i-Am,  or  Hah1  of  Public  Audience. 

Not  even  in  Agra,  and  certainly  not  in  gaudy  Luck- 
now,  had  Malcolm  seen  any  structure  of  such  striking 
architectural  effect.  The  elegant  roof  was  supported 
on  three  rows  of  red  sandstone  pillars,  adorned  with 
chaste  gilding  and  stucco-work.  Open  on  three  sides, 
the  audience  chamber  was  backed  by  a  wall  of  white 
marble,  from  which  a  staircase  led  to  a  throne  raised 
about  ten  feet  from  the  ground  and  covered  with  a  rarely 
beautiful  marble  canopy  borne  on  four  small  pillars. 

The  throne  was  empty,  but  an  attendant  appeared 
through  the  door  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  and  announced 
that  the  Light  of  the  World  would  receive  his  faithful 
soldiers  in  a  few  minutes. 

The  impatient  warriors  snorted  their  disapproval. 
They  did  not  like  to  be  kept  waiting,  but  carried  their 
resentment  no  further,  and  Malcolm,  with  alert  eyes 
and  ears,  moved  about  among  them,  as  by  that  means 
he  hoped  to  avoid  attracting  attention. 

277 


The  Red  Year 

Even  in  that  moment  of  deadly  peril  he  could  not 
help  admiring  the  exquisite  skill  with  which  the  great 
marble  wall  was  decorated  with  mosaics  and  paintings 
of  the  fauna  and  flora  of  India.  The  mosaics  were 
wholly  composed  of  precious  stones,  and  the  paintings 
were  executed  in  rich  tints  that  told  of  a  master  hand. 
There  was  nothing  bizarre  or  crude  in  their  conception. 
They  might  have  adorned  some  Athenian  temple  in 
the  heyday  of  Greece,  and  were  wholly  free  from  the 
stiff  drawing  and  flamboyant  coloring  usually  seen  in 
the  East.  He  did  not  then  know  that  a  renegade 
Venetian  artist,  Austin  de  Bordeaux,  had  carried  out 
this  work  for  Shah  Jehan,  that  great  patron  of  the  arts, 
and  in  any  event,  his  appreciation  of  their  excellence 
was  spasmodic,  for  the  broken  words  he  heard  from 
the  excited  soldiery  warned  him  that  a  crisis  was 
imminent  in  the  fortunes  of  Delhi. 

"Who  is  he,  then,  this  havildar  of  gunners  from 
Bareilly?"  said  one. 

"And  the  other,  Akhab  Khan.  They  say  he  fought 
for  the  Nazarenes  at  Meerut.  Mohammed  Latif  swears 
he  defended  the  treasury  there,"  chimed  in  another. 

"  As  for  me,  I  care  not  who  leads.     I  want  my  pay." 

"  I,  too.     I  have  not  eaten  since  sunrise  yesterday." 

"  We  shall  get  neither  food  nor  money  till  some  one 
clears  those  accursed  Feringhis  off  the  hill,"  growled  a 
deep  voice  close  behind  Malcolm. 

There  was  something  familiar  in  the  tone.  Frank 
edged  away  and  glanced  at  the  speaker,  whom  he  recog- 
nized instantly  as  a  subadar  in  his  own  old  regiment. 

278 


At  the  King's  Court 

But  now  a  craning  of  necks  and  a  sudden  hush  of 
the  animated  talk  showed  that  some  development  was 
toward.  Servants  entered  with  cushions,  which  they 
disposed  round  the  foot  of  the  throne  and  at  the  base 
of  its  canopy.  A  few  nobles  and  court  functionaries 
lounged  in,  two  gorgeously  appareled  guards  came 
through  the  doorway,  and  behind  them  tottered  a  feeble 
old  man,  robed  in  white,  and  wearing  on  his  head  an 
aigrette  of  Bird  of  Paradise  plumes,  fastened  with  a 
gold  clasp  in  which  sparkled  an  immense  emerald. 

Malcolm  had  seen  Bahadur  Shah  only  once  before. 
He  remembered  how  decorous  and  dignified  was  the 
Mogul  court  when  Britain  paid  honor  to  an  ancient 
dynasty.  And  now,  what  a  change!  The  aged  em- 
peror had  to  lift  a  trembling  hand  to  obtain  a  hearing, 
while,  ever  and  anon,  even  during  his  short  address, 
belated  officers  and  troopers  clattered  in  on  horseback, 
and  did  not  dismount  within  the  precincts  of  the 
sacred  Hall  of  Audience  itself. 

He  began  by  explaining  timorously  that  while  affairs 
remained  in  their  present  unsettled  condition  he  could 
not  arrange  matters  as  he  would  have  wished.  He 
knew  that  there  were  arrears  of  pay  and  that  the  food 
supply  was  irregular. 

"  But  you  do  not  help  me,"  he  said,  with  some  display 
of  spirit.  "  Respectable  citizens  tell  me  that  you  plunder 
their  houses  and  debauch  their  wives  and  daughters. 
I  have  issued  repeated  injunctions  prohibiting  robbery 
and  oppression  in  the  city,  but  to  no  avail." 

He  was  interrupted  with  loud  murmurs. 
279 


The  Red  Year 

"What  matters  it  about  the  bazaar-folk,  O  King," 
yelled  a  sepoy.  "We  want  food,  not  a  sermon." 

The  Emperor  seemed  to  fire  up  with  indignation  at 
the  taunt,  but  he  sank  into  the  chair  on  the  throne. 
He  raised  a  hand  twice  to  quiet  the  mob,  and  at  last 
they  allowed  him  to  continue. 

"I  am  weary  and  helpless,"  he  said  faintly.  "I 
have  resolved  to  make  a  vow  to  pass  the  remainder  of 
my  life  in  service  acceptable  to  Allah.  I  will  relinquish 
my  title  and  take  the  garb  of  a  moullah.  I  am  going 
to  the  shrine  of  Khwaja  Sahib,  and  thence  to  Mecca, 
where  I  hope  to  end  my  sorrowful  days." 

This  was  not  the  sort  of  consolation  that  the  mob 
expected  or  wanted.  A  howl  of  execration  burst  forth, 
but  it  was  stayed  by  the  entrance  of  two  people  from 
the  private  portion  of  the  palace. 

There  was  no  need  that  Malcolm  should  ask  who 
the  pale,  haughty,  beautiful  woman  was  who  came  and 
stood  by  her  father's  side.  Roshinara  Begum  did  not 
share  the  Emperor's  dejection.  She  faced  the  rebels 
now  with  the  air  of  one  who  knew  them  for  the  canaille 
they  were.  But  that  was  only  for  an  instant.  A  con- 
summate actress,  she  had  a  part  to  play,  and  she  bent 
and  whispered  something  to  Bahadur  Shah  with  a 
great  show  of  pleased  vivacity. 

A  man  who  accompanied  her  stepped  to  the  front  of 
the  throne,  and  his  words  soon  revealed  to  Malcolm 
that  he  was  listening  to  the  Shahzada,  the  heir  apparent, 
Mirza  Moghul. 

"Why  do  you  come  hither  to  disturb  the  King's 
280 


At  the  King's  Court 

pious  meditations?"  he  cried  angrily.  "You  were 
better  employed  at  the  batteries,  where  your  loyal 
comrades  are  now  firing  a  salute  of  twenty-one  guns  to 
celebrate  the  capture  of  Agra  by  the  Neemuch  Brigade." 

He  paused.  His  statement  was  news  to  all  present, 
as,  indeed,  it  well  might  be,  seeing  that  it  was  a  lie. 
But  his  half  petulant,  half  boastful  tone  was  convincing, 
and  several  voices  were  raised  in  a  cry  of  "Shabash! 
Good  hearing!" 

"This  is  no  time  to  create  mischief  and  disunion," 
he  went  on  loudly.  "  Help  is  coming  from  all  quarters. 
Gwalior,  Jhansi,  Neemuch  and  Lucknow  are  sending 
troops  to  aid  us.  In  three  or  four  days,  if  Allah  be 
willing,  the  Ridge  will  be  taken,  and  every  one  of  the 
base  unbelievers  humbled  and  ruined  and  sent  to  the 
fifth  circle  of  hell." 

The  man  had  the  actor's  trick  of  making  his  points. 
Waiting  until  an  exultant  roar  of  applause  had  died 
away,  he  delivered  his  most  effective  hit. 

"At  the  very  time  you  dared  to  burst  in  on  the 
Emperor's  privacy  he  was  arranging  a  loan  with  cer- 
tain local  bankers  that  will  enable  all  arrears  of  pay  to 
be  made  up.  To-day  there  will  be  a  free  issue  of 
cattle,  grain  and  rice.  Go,  then !  Tell  these  things  to 
all  men,  and  trust  to  the  King  of  Kings  and  his  faithful 
advisers,  of  whom  I  am  at  once  the  nearest  and  the 
most  obedient,  to  lead  you  to  victory  against  the 
Nazarenes." 

For  the  hour  these  brave  words  sufficed.  The  sepoys 
trooped  out  and  Malcolm  went  with  them.  A  back- 

281 


The  Red  Year 

ward  glance  revealed  the  princess  and  her  brother 
engaged  in  a  conversation  with  Bahadur  Shah  and  a 
courtier  or  two.  Their  gestures  and  manner  of  argu- 
ment did  not  bear  out  the  joyful  tidings  brought  to  the 
conclave  by  the  Shahzada.  Indeed,  Frank  guessed 
that  they  were  soundly  rating  the  miserable  monarch 
for  having  allowed  himself  to  speak  so  plainly  to  his 
beloved  subjects. 

Malcolm  knew  there  was  not  a  word  of  truth  in 
Mirza  Moghul's  brief  speech.  The  Gwalior  contingent 
had  gone  to  Cawnpore.  All  the  men  Bareilly  had  to 
send  had  already  arrived  with  Bakht  Khan,  the  "  havil- 
dar  of  artillery,"  who  was  now  the  King's  right  hand 
man.  Jhansi,  Neemuch  and  Lucknow  had  enough 
troubles  of  their  own  without  helping  Delhi,  and,  as 
for  the  bankers'  aid,  it  was  easy  to  guess  the  nature  of 
the  "loan"  that  the  Emperor  hoped  to  extract  from 
them. 

Indeed,  while  Malcolm  and  Chumru  and  their  new 
associates  were  wandering  through  the  streets  and 
making  the  circuit  of  the  western  wall,  there  was 
another  incipient  riot  in  the  fort.  Delay  in  issuing  the 
promised  rations  enraged  the  hungry  troops.  A  num- 
ber hurried  again  to  the  Diwan-i-Am,  clamored  for 
the  king's  presence,  and  told  him  roundly  that  he 
ought  to  imprison  his  sons,  who,  they  said,  had  stolen 
their  pay. 

"  If  the  Treasury  does  not  find  the  money,"  was  the 
threat,  "we  will  kill  you  and  all  your  family,  for  we 
are  masters." 


At  the  King's  Court 

This  later  incident  came  to  Malcolm's  ears  while 
Chumru  was  persuading  a  grain-dealer  to  admit  that 
he  had  some  corn  hidden  away.  The  sight  of  money 
unlocked  the  man's  lips. 

"Would  there  were  more  like  you  in  the  King's 
service,"  he  whined.  "I  have  not  taken  a  rupee  in 
the  way  of  trade  since  the  huzoors  were  driven  forth." 

It  was  easy  enough  to  interpret  the  unhappy  trades- 
man's real  wishes.  He  was  pining  for  the  restoration 
of  the  British  Raj.  Every  man  in  Delhi,  who  had 
anything  to  lose,  mourned  the  day  that  saw  the  downfall 
of  the  Sirkar.1 

"Affairs  go  badly,  then,"  Malcolm  put  in.  "Speak 
freely,  friend.  We  are  strangers,  and  are  minded  to 
go  back  whence  we  came,  for  there  is  naught  but 
misrule  in  the  city  so  far  as  we  can  see." 

"  What  can  you  expect  from  an  old  man  who  writes 
verses  when  he  should  be  punishing  malefactors?" 
said  the  grain-dealer,  bitterly  anxious  to  vent  his 
wrongs.  "If  you  would  act  wisely,  sirdar,  leave  this 
bewitched  place.  It  is  given  over  to  devils.  I  am  a 
Hindu,  as  you  know,  but  I  am  worse  treated  by  the 
Brahmins  than  by  men  of  your  faith." 

"Mayhap  you  have  quarreled  with  some  of  the 
sepoys  and  have  a  sore  feeling  against  them  ?  " 

"  Think  not  so,  sirdar.  Who  am  I  to  make  enemies 
of  these  lords  ?  Every  merchant  in  the  bazaar  is  of  my 
mind,  and  I  have  suffered  less  than  many,  for  I  am  a 
poor  man  and  have  no  family." 

1  The  Government. 


The  Red  Year 

In  response  to  Chumru's  request  the  grain-dealer 
allowed  the  men  to  cook  their  food  in  an  inner  court- 
yard. While  Malcolm  extracted  additional  details  as 
to  the  chaos  that  reigned  in  the  city  the  newcomers 
from  Gwalior  consulted  among  themselves.  They  had 
seen  enough  to  be  convinced  that  there  were  parts  of 
India  much  preferable  to  Delhi  for  residential  purposes. 

"Behold,  sirdar!"  said  one  of  them  after  they  had 
eaten,  "You  led  us  in,  and  now  we  pray  you  lead  us 
out  again.  There  are  plenty  here  to  fight  the  Feringhis, 
and  we  may  be  more  useful  at  Lucknow." 

Malcolm  could  have  laughed  at  the  strangeness  of 
his  position,  but  he  saw  in  this  request  the  nucleus  of 
a  new  method  of  winning  his  way  beyond  the  walls. 

"  Bide  here,"  he  said  gruffly,  "  until  Ali  Khan  and  I 
return,  which  we  will  surely  do  ere  night.  Then  we 
shall  consider  what  steps  to  take.  At  present,  I  am 
of  the  same  mind  as  you." 

He  wanted  to  visit  the  Cashmere  Gate  and  examine 
its  defenses.  Then,  he  believed,  he  would  have  ob- 
tained all  the  information  that  Nicholson  required. 
He  was  certain  that  Delhi  would  fall  if  once  the  British 
secured  a  footing  inside  the  fortifications.  The  city 
was  seething  with  discontent.  Even  if  left  to  its  own 
devices  it  would  speedily  become  disrupted  by  the 
warring  elements  within  its  bounds. 

Chumru  and  he  rode  first  to  the  Mori  Gate.  Thence, 
by  a  side  road,  they  followed  the  wall  to  the  Cashmere 
Gate.  Traveling  as  rapidly  as  the  crowded  state  of 
the  thoroughfare  permitted  and  thus  wearing  the  sem- 

284 


At  the  King's  Court 

blance  of  being  engaged  on  some  urgent  duty,  they 
counted  the  guns  in  each  battery  and  noted  their 
positions. 

Arrived  at  the  Cashmere  Gate  they  loitered  there  a 
few  minutes.  This  was  the  key  of  Delhi.  Once  it  was 
won,  a  broad  road  led  straight  to  the  heart  of  the  city, 
with  the  palace  on  one  hand  and  the  Chandni  Chowk 
on  the  other. 

Malcolm  saw  with  a  feeling  of  unutterable  loathing 
that  the  mutineers  had  converted  St.  James's  Church 
into  a  stable.  Not  so  had  the  founder,  Colonel  James 
Skinner,  treated  the  religions  of  the  people  among  whom 
he  lived.  The  legend  goes  that  the  gallant  soldier,  a 
veteran  of  the  Mahratta  wars,  had  married  three  wives, 
an  Englishwoman,  a  Mohammedan,  and  a  Hindu. 
His  own  religious  views  were  of  the  nebulous  order, 
but,  so  says  the  story,  being  hard  pressed  once  in  a 
fight,  he  vowed  to  build  a  church  to  his  wife's  memory 
if  he  escaped.  His  assailants  were  driven  off  and  the 
vow  remained.  When  he  came  to  give  effect  to  it  he 
was  puzzled  to  know  which  wife  he  should  honor,  so 
he  built  a  church,  a  mosque  and  a  temple,  each  at  a 
corner  of  the  triangular  space  just  within  the  Cashmere 
Gate. 

Whether  the  origin  of  the  structures  is  correctly 
stated  or  not,  they  stand  to  this  day  where  Skinner's 
workmen  placed  them,  and  it  was  a  dastardly  act  on 
the  part  of  men  who  worshiped  in  mosque  and  temple 
to  profane  the  hallowed  shrine  of  another  and  far 
superior  faith. 

285 


The  Red  Year 

Malcolm  was  sitting  motionless  on  Nejdi,  looking  at 
a  squad  of  rebels  erecting  fascines  in  front  of  a  new 
battery  on  the  river  side  of  the  gate,  when  Chumru, 
whose  twisted  vision  seemed  to  command  all  points  of 
the  compass,  saw  that  the  commander  of  a  cavalry 
guard  stationed  there  was  regarding  them  curiously. 

"Turn  to  the  right,  huzoor,"  he  muttered. 

Malcolm  obeyed  instantly.  The  warning  note  in 
Chumru's  voice  was  not  to  be  denied.  It  would  be 
folly  to  wait  and  question  him. 

"Now  let  us  canter,"  said  the  other,  as  soon  as  the 
horses  were  fairly  in  the  main  road. 

"You  did  well,  sahib,  to  move  quickly.  There  was 
one  in  the  guard  yonder  whose  eyes  grew  bigger  each 
second  that  he  looked  at  you." 

They  heard  some  shouting  at  the  gate.  A  bend  in 
the  road  near  the  ruined  offices  of  the  Delhi  Gazette 
gave  them  a  chance  of  increasing  the  pace  to  a  gallop. 
There  was  a  long,  straight  stretch  in  front,  leading  past 
the  Telegraph  Office,  the  dismantled  magazine,  and  a 
small  cemetery.  Then  the  road  turned  again,  and  by 
a  sharp  rise  gained  the  elevated  plateau  on  which 
stood  the  fort. 

Glancing  over  his  shoulder  at  this  point,  Malcolm 
caught  sight  of  a  dozen  sowars  riding  furiously  after 
them.  To  dissipate  any  hope  that  they  might  not  be 
in  pursuit,  he  saw  the  leader  point  in  his  direction  and 
seemingly  urge  on  his  comrades.  It  was  impossible  to 
know  for  certain  what  had  roused  this  nest  of  hornets, 
though  the  presence  of  a  man  of  the  3d  Cavalry  in 

286 


At  the  King's  Court 

the  palace  that  morning  was  a  sinister  fact  that  led  to 
only  one  conclusion.  No  matter  what  the  motive,  he 
felt  that  Chumru  and  he  were  trapped.  There  was  no 
avenue  of  escape.  Whether  they  went  ahead  or  made 
a  dash  for  the  city,  their  pursuers  could  keep  them  well 
in  sight,  as  their  tired  horses  were  incapable  of  a 
sustained  effort  at  top  speed  after  having  been  on  the 
move  nearly  twenty  hours. 

He  had  to  decide  quickly,  and  his  decision  must  be 
governed  not  by  personal  considerations  but  by  the 
needs  of  his  country.  If  he  had  been  recognized,  the 
enemy  would  follow  him.  Therefore,  Chumru  might 
outwit  them  were  he  given  a  chance. 

"Listen,  good  friend,"  he  shouted  as  they  clattered 
up  the  hill.  "  Thou  seest  the  tope  of  trees  in  front" 

"Yes,  sahib." 

"  This,  then,  is  my  last  order,  and  it  must  be  obeyed. 
When  we  reach  those  trees  we  will  bear  off  towards 
the  palace.  Pull  up  there  and  dismount.  Give  me 
the  reins  of  your  horse,  and  hide  yourself  quickly 
among  the  trees.  I  shall  ride  on,  and  you  may  be  able 
to  dodge  into  some  ditch  or  nullah  till  it  is  dark.  Re- 
join those  men  from  Gwalior  if  possible,  and  try  to 
get  away  from  the  city.  Tell  the  General-sahib  what 
you  have  seen  and  that  I  sent  you.  Do  you  under- 
stand?" 

"Huzoor!—  " 

"Silence!  Wouldst  thou  have  me  fail  in  my  duty? 
It  is  my  parting  wish,  Chumru.  There  is  no  time  for 
words.  Do  as  I  say,  or  we  both  die  uselessly." 

287 


The  Red  Year 

There  was  no  answer.  The  Mohammedan's  eyes 
blazed  with  the  frenzy  of  a  too  complete  comprehension 
of  his  master's  intent.  But  now  they  were  behind  the 
trees,  and  Malcolm  was  already  checking  Nejdi. 
Chumru  flung  himself  from  the  saddle  and  ran.  Cow- 
ering amid  some  shrubs  of  dense  foliage,  he  watched 
Malcolm  dashing  along  the  road  to  the  Lahore  Gate 
of  the  palace.  A  minute  later  the  rebels  thundered 
past,  and  they  did  not  seem  to  notice  that  one  of  the 
two  horses  disappearing  in  the  curved  cutting  that  led 
to  the  drawbridge  and  side  entrance  of  the  gate  was 
riderless. 

Chumru  ought  to  have  taken  immediate  measures 
to  secure  his  own  safety.  But  he  did  nothing  of  the 
kind.  He  lay  there,  watching  the  hard-riding  horse- 
men, and  striving  most  desperately  to  do  them  all  the 
harm  that  the  worst  sort  of  malign  imprecations  could 
effect.  They,  in  turn,  vanished  in  the  sunken  approach 
to  the  fortress,  and  the  unhappy  bearer  was  imagining 
the  horrible  fate  that  had  befallen  the  master,  whom  he 
loved  more  than  kith  or  kin,  when  he  saw  the  same 
men  suddenly  reappear  and  gallop  towards  the  Delhi 
Gate,  which  was  situated  at  a  considerable  distance. 

Something  had  happened  to  disappoint  and  annoy 
them  —  that  much  he  could  gather  from  their  gestures 
and  impassioned  speech.  Whatever  it  was,  Malcolm- 
sahib  apparently  was  not  dead  yet,  and  while  there  is 
life  there  is  hope. 

Chumru  proceeded  to  disrobe.  He  kicked  off  his 
boots,  untied  his  putties,  threw  aside  the  frock-coat 

288 


At  the  King's  Court 

and  breeches  of  a  cavalry  rissaldar,  and  stood  up  in 
the  ordinary  white  clothing  of  a  native  servant. 

"  Shabash ! "  muttered  he,  as  he  unfastened  the  mili- 
tary badge  in  his  turban.  "There  is  nothing  like  a 
change  of  clothing  to  alter  a  man.  Now  I  can  follow 
my  sahib  and  none  be  the  wiser." 

With  that  he  walked  coolly  into  the  roadway  and 
stepped  out  leisurely  towards  the  Lahore  Gate.  But 
he  found  the  massive  door  closed  and  the  drawbridge 
raised,  and  a  gruff  voice  bade  him  begone,  as  the 
gate  would  not  be  opened  until  the  King's  orders 
were  received. 


289 


CHAPTER  XVI 

IN  THE  VORTEX 

MALCOLM  was  not  one  to  throw  his  life  away  without 
an  effort  to  save  it.  Once,  during  a  visit  to  Delhi, 
Captain  Douglas,  the  ill-fated  commandant  of  the 
Palace  Guards,  had  taken  him  to  his  quarters  for 
tiffin.  As  it  happened,  the  two  entered  by  the  Delhi 
Gate  and  walked  through  the  gardens  and  corridors 
to  Douglas's  rooms,  which  were  situated  over  the 
Lahore  Gate.  Thus  he  possessed  a  vague  knowledge 
of  the  topography  of  the  citadel,  and  his  visit  that  morn- 
ing had  refreshed  his  memory  to  a  slight  extent.  On 
that  slender  reed  he  based  some  hope  of  escape.  In 
any  event  he  prayed  that  his  ruse  might  better 
Chumru's  chances,  and  he  promised  himself  a  sol- 
dier's death  if  brought  to  bay  inside  the  palace. 

Crossing  the  drawbridge  at  a  fast  gallop,  he  saw  a 
number  of  guards  looking  at  him  wonderingly.  It 
occurred  to  him  that  the  exciting  events  of  the  early 
hours  might  have  led  to  orders  being  given  on  the 
question  of  admitting  sepoys  in  large  numbers.  If 
that  were  so,  he  might  gain  time  by  a  bit  of  sheer  audac- 
ity. At  any  rate,  there  was  no  harm  in  trying.  As 
he  clattered  through  the  gateway  he  shouted  excitedly: 

£90 


In  the  Vortex 

"Close  and  bar  the  door!  None  must  be  admitted 
without  the  King's  special  order!" 

The  spectacle  of  a  well-mounted  sepoy  officer,  blood- 
stained and  travel-worn,  who  arrived  in  such  desperate 
haste  and  was  evidently  pursued  by  a  body  of  horse, 
so  startled  the  attendants  that  they  banged  and  bolted 
the  great  door  without  further  ado. 

Already  the  story  was  going  the  rounds  that  the 
precious  life  of  Bahadur  Shah  had  actually  been 
threatened  by  the  overbearing  sepoys  —  what  more 
likely  than  that  this  hard-riding  officer  was  coming  to 
apprise  his  majesty  of  a  genuine  plot,  while  the  flying 
squadron  in  the  rear  was  striving  to  cut  him  down 
before  the  fateful  message  was  delivered  ? 

Not  to  create  too  great  a  stir,  Malcolm  pulled  up 
both  horses  at  the  entrance  to  the  arcade. 

He  called  a  chaprassi  and  bade  him  hold  Chumru's 
steed.  Then,  learning  from  the  uproar  at  the  gate 
that  the  guards  were  obeying  his  instructions  literally, 
he  went  on  at  an  easier  pace. 

The  palace  was  humming  with  excitement.  Its 
numerous  buildings  housed  a  multitude  of  court  nobles 
and  other  hangers-on  to  the  court,  and  each  of  these 
had  his  special  coterie  of  attendants  who  helped  to 
advance  their  own  fortunes  by  clinging  to  their  master's 
skirts.  The  jealousies  and  intrigues  that  surround  a 
throne  were  never  more  in  evidence  than  at  Delhi 
during  the  last  hours  of  the  Great  Mogul.  Already 
men  were  preparing  for  the  final  catastrophe.  While 
the  ignorant  mob  was  firm  in  its  belief  that  the  rule  of 

291 


The  Red  Year 

the  sahib  had  passed  forever,  those  few  clearer-headed 
persons  who  possessed  any  claim  to  the  title  of  states- 
men were  convinced  that  the  Mutiny  had  failed. 

Nearly  four  months  were  sped  since  that  fatal  Sunday 
when  the  rebellion  broke  out  at  Meerut.  And  what 
had  been  achieved  ?  Delhi,  the  pivot  of  Mohammedan 
hopes,  was  crowded  with  a  licentious  soldiery,  who 
obeyed  only  those  leaders  that  pandered  to  them,  who 
fought  only  when  some  perfervid  moullah  aroused  their 
worst  passions  by  his  eloquence,  and  who  were  terrible 
only  to  peaceful  citizens.  All  public  credit  was  de- 
stroyed. The  rule  of  the  King,  nominal  within  the 
walls  of  his  own  palace,  was  laughed  at  in  the  city 
and  ignored  beyond  its  walls.  The  provincial  satraps 
and  feudatory  princes  who  should  be  striving  to  help 
their  sovereign  were  wholly  devoted  to  the  more 
congenial  task  of  carving  out  kingdoms  for  them- 
selves. 

Nana  Sahib,  rehabilitated  in  Oudh,  ^as  opposing 
Havelock's  advance;  Khan  Bahadur  Khan,  an  ex- 
pensioner  of  the  Company,  had  set  up  a  barbarous 
despotism  at  Bareilly;  the  Moulvie  of  Fyzabad,  intent 
on  the  destruction  of  the  Residency,  meant  to  establish 
himself  there  as  "King  of  Hindustan"  if  only  that 
stubborn  entrenchment  could  be  carried;  Mahudi  Hu- 
sain,  Gaffur  Beg,  Kunwer  Singh,  the  Ranee  of  Jhansi, 
and  a  host  of  other  prominent  rebels  scattered  through- 
out Oudh,  Bengal,  the  Northwest  Provinces  and  Central 
India,  cared  less  for  Delhi  than  for  their  own  private 
affairs,  and  were  consequently  permitting  the  British 

292 


In  the  Vortex 

to  gather  forces  by  which  they  could  be  destroyed 
piecemeal. 

From  Nepaul,  the  great  border  state,  lying  behind 
the  pestilential  jungle  of  the  Terai,  came  an  army  of 
nine  thousand  Ghoorkahs  to  help  the  British.  At 
Hyderabad,  the  most  powerful  Mohammedan  princi- 
pality in  India,  the  Nizam  and  his  famous  minister, 
Sir  Salar  Jung,  crushed  a  Jehad  with  cannon  and  grape- 
shot.  In  a  word,  the  orgy  had  ended,  and  the  day  of 
reckoning  was  near. 

Malcolm,  therefore,  was  confronted  with  two  sepa- 
rate and  hostile  sets  of  conditions.  On  the  one  hand, 
he  was  threading  his  way  through  a  maze  of  conflicting 
interests,  and  this  was  a  circumstance  most  favorable 
to  his  chances  of  escape;  on  the  other,  every  man 
regarded  his  neighbor  with  distrust  and  a  stranger 
with  positive  suspicion,  while  Malcolm's  distinguished 
appearance  could  not  fail  to  draw  many  inquiring 
eyes. 

He  crossed  the  large  garden  beyond  the  arcade  and 
was  making  for  an  arch  that  gave  access  to  the  long 
covered  passage  leading  to  the  Delhi  Gate,  when  he 
saw  Akhab  Khan  standing  there. 

The  rebel  leader  was  deep  in  converse  with  a  richly- 
attired  personage  whom  Frank  discovered  afterwards 
to  be  the  Vizier.  Near  Akhab  Khan  an  escort  of 
sowars  stood  by  their  horses,  and  Malcolm  felt  that 
the  instant  the  former  lance-corporal  set  eyes  on  either 
Nejdi  or  himself  recognition  would  follow  as  surely  as 
a  vulture  knows  its  prey. 

293 


The  Red  Year 

He  could  neither  dawdle  nor  hesitate.  Wheeling 
Nejdi  towards  the  nearest  arch  on  the  left,  he  found 
himself  in  an  open  space  between  the  walls  of  the 
fortress  and  the  outer  line  of  buildings.  Underneath 
the  broad  terrace,  from  which  troops  could  defend  the 
battlements,  stood  a  row  of  storerooms  and  go-downs. 
At  a,  little  distance  he  could  distinguish  a  line  of  stables, 
and  the  mere  sight  sent  the  blood  dancing  through  his 
veins. 

If  only  he  could  evade  capture  until  nightfall  he 
would  no  longer  feel  that  each  moment  might  find  him 
making  a  last  fight  against  impossible  odds.  Dis- 
mounting, he  led  Nejdi  to  an  unoccupied  stall.  As 
there  was  nothing  to  be  gained  by  half  measures  he 
removed  saddle  and  bridle,  hung  them  on  a  peg,  put 
a  halter  on  the  Arab,  adjusted  the  heel-ropes,  and 
hunted  the  adjoining  stalls  for  forage. 

He  came  upon  some  gram  in  a  sack  and  a  quantity 
of  hay.  All  provender  was  alike  to  Nejdi  so  long  as 
it  was  toothsome.  He  was  soon  busily  engaged,  and 
Malcolm  resolved  to  avoid  observation  by  grooming 
him  when  any  one  passed  whose  gaze  might  be  too 
inquisitive. 

He  took  care  that  sword  and  revolvers  were  handy. 
It  was  hard  to  tell  what  hue  and  cry  might  be  raised 
by  the  troopers  against  whom  the  guards  had  closed 
the  Lahore  Gate.  Perhaps  they  were  searching  for 
two  men  and  the  finding  of  one  horse  in  charge  of  a 
chaprassi  might  suggest  that  the  rider  of  the  other 
and  his  companion  had  dodged  through  the  Delhi 

294 


In  the  Vortex 

Gate.  Again,  his  pursuers  might  have  galloped  straight 
to  the  other  exit  and  thus  made  certain  that  he  was 
still  in  the  palace.  If  that  were  so  and  they  ferreted 
him  out,  as  well  die  here  as  elsewhere.  Meanwhile,  he 
chewed  philosophically  at  a  few  grains  of  the  gram, 
and  awaited  the  outcome  of  events  that  were  now 
beyond  his  control. 

A  wild  swirl  of  wind  and  rain  seemed  to  favor  him. 
There  was  not  much  traffic  past  his  retreat,  and  that 
little  ceased  when  a  deluge  lashed  the  dry  earth  and 
clouds  of  vapor  rose  as  though  the  water  were  beating 
on  an  oven.  Now  and  again  a  syce  hurried  past,  with 
head  and  shoulders  enveloped  in  a  sack.  Once  a 
party  of  sepoys  trudged  through  the  mud,  towards  the 
water  bastion  of  the  palace,  and  the  men  whom  they 
had  relieved  came  back  the  same  way  a  few  minutes 
later. 

Nejdi  had  seldom  been  groomed  so  vigorously  as 
during  the  passing  of  these  detachments,  but  no  one 
gave  the  slightest  heed  to  the  cavalry  officer  who  was 
engaged  on  such  an  unusual  task.  If  they  noticed  him 
at  all  it  was  to  wonder  that  he  could  be  such  a  fool  as 
to  work  when  there  were  hundreds  of  loafers  in  the 
city  who  could  be  kicked  to  the  job. 

The  rain  storm  changed  into  a  steady  drizzle  and  the 
increasing  gloom  promised  complete  darkness  within 
hah7  an  hour.  Malcolm  was  beginning  to  plan  his 
movements  when  he  became  aware  of  a  man  wrapped 
in  a  heavy  cloak  who  approached  from  the  direction 
of  the  arcade  and  peered  into  every  nook  and  cranny. 

295 


The  Red  Year 

"Now,"  thought  Frank,  "comes  my  first  real  diffi- 
culty. That  man  is  searching  for  some  one.  Whether 
or  not  he  seeks  me  he  is  sure  to  speak,  and  if  my 
presence  has  been  reported  he  will  recognize  both 
Nejdi  and  me  instantly.  If  so,  I  must  strangle  him 
with  as  little  ceremony  as  possible." 

The  newcomer  came  on.  In  the  half  light  it  was 
easy  to  see  that  he  was  not  a  soldier  but  a  court  official. 
Indeed,  before  the  searcher's  glance  rested  on  the  gray 
Arab,  munching  contentedly  in  his  stall,  or  the  tall 
sowar  who  stood  in  obscurity  near  his  head,  Frank 
felt  almost  sure  that  he  was  face  to  face  with  the  trusted 
confidant  who  had  carried  out  Roshinara  Begum's 
behests  in  the  garden  at  Bithoor. 

That  fact  saved  the  native's  life.  The  Englishman 
would  have  killed  him  without  compunction  were  it 
not  for  the  belief  that  the  man  was  actually  looking 
for  him  and  for  none  other,  and  with  friendly  intent, 
too,  else  he  would  have  brought  a  bodyguard. 

Sure  enough,  the  stranger's  first  words  were  of  good 
import.  He  could  not  see  clearly  into  the  dark  stable 
and  it  was  necessary  to  measure  one's  utterances  in 
Delhi  just  then. 

"  If  you  are  one  who  rode  into  Delhi  this  morning  I 
would  have  speech  with  you,"  he  muttered  softly. 

"Say  on,"  said  Malcolm,  gripping  his  sword. 

"Nay,  one  does  not  give  the  Princess  Roshinara's 
instructions  without  knowing  that  they  reach  the  ears 
they  are  meant  for." 

The  Englishman  came  out  from  the  obscurity.  He 
296 


In  the  Vortex 

approached  so  quickly  that  the  native  started  back, 
being  far  from  prepared  for  Frank's  very  convincing 
resemblance  to  a  rissaldar  of  cavalry. 

"I  look  for  one — "  he  began,  but  Frank  had  no 
mind  to  lose  time. 

"  For  Malcolm-sahib  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"It  might  be  some  such  name,"  was  the  hesitating 
answer. 

"  I  am  he.  I  saw  thee  last  at  Bithoor,  when  I  escaped 
with  Mayne-sahib  and  the  missy-baba."  l 

"By  Mohammed!  I  would  not  have  known  you, 
sahib,  though  now  I  remember  your  face.  Come  with 
me,  and  quickly.  Each  moment  here  means  danger." 

"Ay,  for  thee.     I  am  not  one  to  be  tricked  so  easily." 

"Huzoor,  have  I  not  sought  you  without  arms  or 
escort  ?  I  and  another  have  searched  the  palace  these 
two  hours.  Leave  your  horse.  I  will  have  him  tended. 
Come,  sahib,  I  pray  you.  The  Begum  awaits  you, 
but  there  are  so  many  who  know  of  your  presence  that 
I  shall  not  be  able  to  save  you  if  you  fall  into  their 
hands." 

These  were  fair-seeming  words  with  the  ring  of 
truth  about  them.  At  any  rate  Malcolm's  where- 
abouts were  no  longer  a  secret,  and  it  would  not  be 
war  but  murder  to  offer  violence  to  one  who  came 
with  good  intent  on  his  lips  if  not  in  his  heart. 

"Lead  on,"  said  Frank,  sternly,  "and  remember  that 
I  shall  not  hesitate  to  strike  at  the  first  sign  of  treach- 
ery." 

1  The  familiar  native  title  for  a  European  young  lady. 
297 


The  Red  Year 

"  I  shall  not  betray  you,  sahib,  but  you  must  converse 
with  me  as  we  walk  and  not  draw  too  many  eyes  by 
holding  a  naked  sword." 

This  was  so  manifestly  reasonable  that  Malcolm 
felt  rather  ashamed  of  his  doubts.  Yet,  he  thought  it 
best  not  to  appear  to  relax  his  precautions. 

"I  would  not  pass  through  the  palace  with  a  sword 
in  my  hand,"  he  said  with  a  quiet  laugh,  "but  I  have 
a  pistol  in  my  belt,  and  that  will  suffice  for  six  men." 

His  guide  set  off  at  a  rapid  pace.  When  they  were 
near  the  great  arch  leading  into  the  garden  they  halted 
in  front  of  a  small  door  in  a  dimly-lighted  building, 
and  the  native  rapped  twice  with  his  knuckles  on 
three  separate  panels.  Some  bolts  were  drawn  and 
the  two  were  admitted,  the  door  being  instantly  barred 
behind  them  by  an  attendant.  The  darkness  in  the 
passage  was  impenetrable.  Frank  held  himself  tensely, 
but  his  companion's  voice  reached  him  from  a  little 
distance  in  front,  while  he  heard  other  bolts  being 
drawn. 

"  You  will  see  your  way  more  clearly  now,"  was  the 
reassuring  message,  and  when  the  second  door  was 
opened  the  rays  of  a  lamp  lit  the  stone  walls  and 
floor.  They  went  on,  through  lofty  corridors,  across 
sequestered  gardens  and  by  way  of  many  a  stately 
chamber  until  another  narrow  passage  terminated  in 
a  barred  door,  guarded  by  an  armed  native.  The 
man's  shrill  voice  betokened  his  calling,  and  Frank 
knew  that  he  was  standing  at  the  entrance  to  the 
zenana. 

298 


In  the  Vortex 

"  There  is  one  other  within,"  said  the  guard,  leering 
at  them. 

"  Who  is  it,  slave  ?  "  asked  Frank's  guide  scornfully, 
for  he  was  annoyed  by  the  eunuch's  familiar  tone. 

"  Nay,  I  obey  orders,"  was  the  tart  response.  "  En- 
ter, then,  and  may  Allah  prosper  you." 

There  was  a  hint  of  danger  in  the  otherwise  excellent 
wish,  but  the  man  unlocked  the  door,  and  they  passed 
within. 

Frank's  wondering  eyes  rested  on  a  scene  of  fairy-like 
beauty,  so  exquisite  in  its  colorings  and  so  unexpected 
withal,  that  not  even  his  desperate  predicament  could 
repress  for  an  instant  the  feeling  of  astonishment  that 
overwhelmed  him.  He  was  standing  in  a  white  marble 
chamber,  pillared  and  roofed  in  the  Byzantine  style, 
while  every  shaft  and  arch  was  chiseled  into  graceful 
lines  and  adorned  with  traceries  or  carved  festoons  of 
fruit  and  flowers.  The  walls  were  brightened  with 
mosaics  wrought  in  precious  stones.  Texts  from  the 
Koran  in  the  flowing  Persi-Arabic  script,  ran  above 
the  arches.  In  the  floor,  composed  of  colored  tiles, 
was  set  a  pachisi  1  board,  as  the  wide  entrance  hall  to 
a  European  house  might  have  a  chess-board  incorpo- 
rated with  the  design  of  the  tiled  floor. 

Not  a  garish  tint  or  inharmonious  line  interfered 
with  the  chaste  elegance  of  the  white  marble,  and  the 
whole  apartment,  which  seemed  to  be  the  ante-room 
of  the  ladies'  quarters,  was  lighted  with  Moorish 
lamps. 

1 A  game  of  the  draughts  order,  much  played  by  native  ladies. 
299 


The  Red  Year 

Malcolm  took  in  some  of  these  details  in  one  amazed 
glance,  but  his  thoughts  were  recalled  sternly  to  the 
affairs  of  the  moment  by  hearing  the  ring  of  spurred 
heels  on  the  sharp-sounding  pavement  from  behind  a 
curtained  arch.  There  was  no  time  to  retreat  nor 
cross  towards  an  alcove  that  promised  some  slight 
screen  from  the  soft  and  penetrating  light  that  filled 
the  room.  He  saw  that  his  guide  was  perturbed,  but 
he  asked  no  question.  With  the  quick  military  tread 
came  the  frou-frou  of  silk  and  the  footfall  of  slippered 
feet.  Then  the  curtain  was  drawn  aside  and  Akhab 
Khan  entered,  followed  by  the  Princess  Roshinara. 

Malcolm  had  the  advantage  of  a  few  seconds'  warn- 
ing. Even  as  Akhab  Khan  placed  his  hand  on  the 
curtain  the  Englishman  sprang  forward,  and  the 
astounded  sowar,  now  a  brigadier  in  the  rebel  forces, 
found  himself  looking  into  the  muzzle  of  a  revolver. 

"Do  not  move  till  I  bid  you,  Akhab  Khan,"  said 
Malcolm,  in  his  self-contained  way.  "  I  am  summoned 
hither,  so  I  come,  but  it  may  be  necessary  to  secure  a 
hostage  for  my  safe  conduct  outside  the  walls  again." 

"You!  Malcolm-sahib ! "  was  Akhab  Khan's  invol- 
untary outburst. 

"Yes,  even  I.  Have  you  not  heard,  then,  that  I 
rode  into  the  palace  to-day?" 

"There  was  a  report  that  some  Feringhis  —  some 
sahibs  —  were  in  the  city  as  spies  — " 

"Malcolm-sahib  is  here  because  I  sent  for  him," 
broke  in  Roshinara. 

"  You  —  sent  for  him ! " 

300 


In  the  Vortex 

Akhab  Khan's  swarthy  features  paled,  and  his  eyes 
sparkled  wrathfully.  Heedless  of  Malcolm's  implied 
threat,  or  perhaps  ignoring  it,  he  wheeled  round  on 
the  Princess,  and  his  right  hand  crossed  to  his  sword- 
hilt. 

"  If  you  so  much  as  turn  your  head  again  or  lift  a 
hand  without  my  order,  I  blow  your  brains  out,"  said 
Malcolm  in  the  same  unemotional  tone. 

"Nay,  let  him  attack  a  woman  if  it  pleaseth  him," 
cried  Roshinara,  who  had  not  drawn  back  one  inch 
from  the  place  where  she  was  standing  when  Malcolm 
confronted  Akhab  Khan  and  herself.  "That  is  what 
our  troops,  officers  and  men  alike,  are  best  fitted  for. 
They  love  to  swagger  in  the  bazaar,  but  their  valor 
flies  when  they  see  the  Ridge." 

Again  quite  indifferent  to  the  fact  that  Malcolm's 
finger  was  on  the  trigger,  the  rebel  leader  threw  out 
his  hands  towards  the  Begum  in  a  gesture  of  agonized 
protest. 

"Do  you  not  trust  me,  my  heart?"  he  murmured. 
"If  you  knew  of  this  Nazarene's  presence  why  was  I 
not  told?" 

"  Because  I  wished  to  save  you  in  spite  of  yourself. 
Because  I  would  mourn  you  if  you  fell  in  battle  as 
befits  a  warrior  and  the  man  whom  I  love,  but  I  would 
not  have  you  die  on  the  scaffold,  as  most  of  the  others 
will  die  ere  another  month  be  sped.  What  hope  have 
we  of  success  ?  If  forty  thousand  sepoys  cannot  over- 
come the  three  thousand  English  on  the  Ridge,  how 
shall  they  prevail  against  the  force  that  is  now  pre- 
301 


The  Red  Year 

paring  to  storm  Delhi  ?  I  sent  for  Malcolm-sahib  that 
I  might  obtain  terms  for  my  father  and  for  thee,  Akhab 
Khan.  This  man  is  now  in  our  power.  Let  us  bar- 
gain with  him.  If  he  goes  free  to-day,  let  him  promise 
that  we  shall  be  spared  when  the  gallows  is  busy  in 
front  of  our  palace." 

Each  word  of  this  impassioned  speech  was  a  revela- 
tion to  Malcolm.  Here  was  the  fiery  beauty  of  the 
Mogul  court  pleading  for  the  lives  of  her  father  and 
lover,  pleading  to  him,  a  solitary  Briton  in  the  midst 
of  thousands  of  mutineers,  a  prisoner  in  their  strong- 
hold, a  spy  whose  life  was  forfeit  by  the  laws  of  war. 
Hardly  less  bewildering  than  this  turn  of  fortune's 
wheel  was  the  whirligig  that  promoted  a  poor  trooper 
of  the  Company  to  the  position  of  accepted  suitor  for 
the  hand  of  a  royal  maiden.  Never  could  there  be  a 
more  complete  unveiling  of  the  Eastern  mind,  with  all 
its  fatalism,  its  strange  weaknesses,  its  uncontrollable 
passions. 

Akhab  Khan  stretched  out  his  arms  again. 

"Forgive  me,  my  soul,  if  I  did  doubt  thee,"  he 
almost  sobbed. 

The  girl  was  the  first  to  recover  her  self-control. 

"Put  away  your  pistol,"  she  said,  fixing  her  fine 
eyes  on  Malcolm,  with  a  softness  in  their  limpid  depths 
that  he  had  never  seen  there  before.  "If  we  can 
contrive,  my  plighted  husband  and  I,  you  will  not 
need  it  to-night.  I  was  rejoiced  to  hear  that  you  were 
within  our  gates.  We  are  beaten.  I  know  it.  We 
have  lost  a  kingdom,  because  wretches  like  Nana 

302 


In  the  Vortex 

Dundhu  Punt  of  Bithoor,  have  forgotten  their  oaths 
and  preferred  drunken  revels  to  empire.  Were  they 
of  my  mind,  were  they  as  loyal  and  honorable  as  the 
man  I  hope  to  marry,  we  would  have  driven  you  and 
yours  into  the  sea,  Malcolm-sahib.  But  Allah  willed 
otherwise  and  we  can  only  bow  to  his  decree.  It  is 
Kismet.  I  am  content.  Say,  then,  if  you  are  sent  in 
safety  to  your  camp,  do  you  in  return  guarantee  the 
two  lives  I  ask  of  you  ?  " 

Malcolm  could  not  help  looking  at  Akhab  Khan 
before  he  answered.  The  handsome  young  soldier  had 
folded  his  arms,  and  his  eyes  dwelt  on  Roshinara's 
animated  face  with  a  sad  fixity  that  bespoke  at  once 
his  love  and  his  despair. 

Then  the  Englishman  placed  the  revolver  in  his  belt 
and  bowed  low  before  the  woman  who  reposed  such 
confidence  in  him. 

"If  the  issue  rested  with  me,  Princess,"  he  said, 
"you  need  have  no  fear  for  the  future.  I  am  only  a 
poor  officer  and  I  have  small  influence.  Yet  I  promise 
that  such  power  as  I  possess  shall  be  exerted  in  your 
behalf,  and  I  would  remind  you  that  we  English  neither 
make  war  on  woman  nor  treat  honorable  enemies  as 
felons." 

"My  father  is  a  feeble  old  man,"  she  cried  vehe- 
mently. "  It  was  not  by  his  command  that  your  people 
were  slain.  And  Akhab  Khan  has  never  drawn  his 
sword  save  in  fair  fight." 

"  I  can  vouch  for  Akhab  Khan's  treatment  of  those 
who  were  at  his  mercy,"  said  Malcolm,  generously. 

303 


The  Red  Year 

"Nay,  sahib,  you  repaid  me  that  night,"  said  the 
other,  not  to  be  outdone  in  this  exchange  of  compli- 
ments. "But  if  I  have  the  happiness  to  find  such 
favor  with  my  lady  that  she  plots  to  save  me  against 
my  will  I  cannot  forget  that  I  lead  some  thousands  of 
sepoys  who  have  faith  in  me.  You  have  been  exam- 
ining our  defenses  all  day.  Sooner  would  I  fall  on 
my  sword  here  and  now  than  that  I  should  connive 
at  the  giving  of  information  to  an  enemy  which  should 
lead  to  the  destruction  of  my  men." 

Malcolm  had  foreseen  this  pitfall  in  the  smooth  road 
that  was  seemingly  opening  before  him. 

"  I  would  prefer  to  become  the  bearer  of  terms  than 
of  information,"  he  said. 

"Terms?  What  terms?  How  many  hands  in  this 
city  are  free  of  innocent  blood  ?  Were  I  or  any  other  to 
propose  a  surrender  we  should  be  torn  limb  from  limb." 

"Then  I  must  tell  you  that  I  cannot  accept  your 
help  at  the  price  of  silence.  When  I  undertook  this 
mission  I  knew  its  penalties.  I  am  still  prepared  to 
abide  by  them.  Let  me  remind  you  that  it  is  I,  not 
you,  who  can  impose  conditions  within  these  four  walls." 

Akhab  Khan  paled  again.  His  was  the  tempera- 
ment that  shows  anger  by  the  token  which  reveals 
cowardice  in  some  men ;  it  is  well  to  beware  of  him  who 
enters  a  fight  with  bloodless  cheeks  and  gray  lips. 
But  Roshinara  sprang  between  them  with  an  eager  cry : 

"  What  folly  is  this  that  exhausts  itself  on  a  point  of 
honor  ?  Does  not  every  spy  who  brings  us  details  of 
each  gun  and  picket  on  the  Ridge  tell  the  sahib-log  all 

304 


In  the  Vortex 

that  they  wish  to  know  of  our  strength  and  our  dis- 
sensions? Will  not  the  man  who  warned  us  of  the 
presence  of  an  officer-sahib  in  our  midst  to-day  go  back 
and  sell  the  news  of  a  sepoy  regiment's  threat  to  murder 
the  King  ?  Have  done  with  these  idle  words  —  let  us 
to  acts!  Nawab-ji!" 

"Heaven-born!"  Malcolm's  guide  advanced  with 
a  deep  salaam. 

"  See  to  it  that  my  orders  are  carried  out.  Mayhap 
thine  own  head  may  rest  easier  on  its  shoulders  if  there 
is  no  mischance." 

The  nawab-ji  bowed  again,  and  assured  the  Presence 
that  there  would  be  no  lapse  on  his  part.  Akhab  Khan 
had  turned  away.  His  attitude  betokened  utter  dejec- 
tion, but  the  Princess,  not  the  first  of  her  sex  to  barter 
ambition  for  love,  was  radiant  with  hope. 

"Go,  Malcolm-sahib,"  she  whispered,  "and  may 
Allah  guard  you  on  the  way!" 

"I  have  one  favor  to  ask,"  he  said.  "My  devoted 
servant,  a  man  named  Chumru  — " 

She  smiled  with  the  air  of  a  woman  who  breathes 
freely  once  more  after  passing  through  some  grave  peril. 

"  How,  then,  do  you  think  I  found  out  the  identity  of 
the  English  officer  who  had  dared  to  enter  Delhi  ?  "  she 
asked.  "  Your  man  came  to  me,  not  without  difficulty, 
and  told  me  you  were  here.  It  was  he  who  inspired 
me  with  the  thought  that  your  presence  might  be  turned 
to  good  account.  But  go,  and  quickly.  He  is  safe." 

Frank  hardly  knew  how  to  bid  her  farewell  until  he 
remembered  that,  if  of  royal  birth,  Princess  Roshinara 

305 


The  Red  Year 

was  also  a  beautiful  woman.  He  took  her  hand  and 
raised  it  to  his  lips,  a  most  unusual  proceeding  in  the 
East,  but  the  tribute  of  respect  seemed  to  please  her. 

Following  the  nawab  he  traversed  many  corridors 
and  chambers  and  ultimately  reached  an  apartment  in 
which  Chumru  was  seated.  That  excellent  bearer  was 
smoking  a  hookah,  with  a  couple  of  palace  servants, 
and  doubtless  exchanging  spicy  gossip  with  the  freedom 
of  Eastern  manners  and  conversation. 

"Shabash!"  he  cried  when  his  crooked  gaze  fell  on 
Malcolm.  "By  the  tomb  of  Nizam-ud-din,  there  are 
tunes  when  women  are  useful." 

They  were  let  down  from  a  window  on  the  river 
face  of  the  palace  and  taken  by  a  boat  to  the  bank 
of  the  Jumna  above  Ludlow  Castle,  while  the  nawab 
undertook  to  deliver  their  horses  next  day  at  the  camp. 
He  carried  out  his  promise  to  the  letter,  nor  did  he 
forget  to  put  forth  a  plea  in  his  own  behalf  against  the 
hour  when  British  bayonets  would  be  probing  the 
recesses  of  the  fort  and  its  occupants. 

When  Nicholson  came  out  of  the  mess  after  supper 
he  found  Malcolm  waiting  for  an  audience.  Chumru, 
still  wearing  the  servant's  livery  in  which  the  famous 
brigadier  had  last  seen  him,  was  squatting  on  the 
ground  near  his  master.  The  general  was  not  apt  to 
waste  time  in  talk,  and  he  had  a  singular  knack  of 
reading  men's  thoughts  by  a  look. 

"  Glad  to  see  you  back  again,  Major  Malcolm,"  he 
cried.  "  I  hope  you  were  successful  ?  " 

"It  is  for  you  to  decide,  sir,  when  you  have  heard 
306 


In  the  Vortex 

my  story,"  and  without  further  preamble  Frank  gave 
a  clear  narrative  of  his  adventures  since  dawn.  Not  a 
word  did  he  say  about  the  very  things  he  had  been 
sent  to  report  on,  and  Nicholson  understood  that  a  direct 
order  alone  would  unlock  his  lips.  When  Frank  ended 
the  general  frowned  and  was  silent.  In  those  days 
men  did  not  hold  honor  lightly,  and  Nicholson  was  a 
fine  type  of  soldier  and  gentleman. 

"  Confound  it ! "  he  growled,  "  this  is  awkward,  very 
awkward,"  and  Malcolm  felt  bitterly  that  the  extra- 
ordinary turn  taken  by  events  in  the  palace  was  in  a 
fair  way  towards  depriving  his  superiors  of  the  facts 
they  were  so  anxious  to  learn.  Suddenly  the  big  man's 
deep  eyes  fell  on  Chumru. 

"Here,  you,"  he  growled,  "was  aught  said  to  thee 
whereby  thou  hast  a  scruple  to  tell  me  how  many  guns 
defend  the  Cashmere  Gate  ?  " 

"  Huzoor,"  said  Chumru,  "  there  are  but  two  things 
that  concern  me,  my  master's  safety  and  the  size  of 
that  jaghir  your  honor  promised  me." 

Nicholson  laughed  with  an  almost  boyish  mirth. 

"  By  gad,"  he  cried, "  you  are  fortunate  in  your  friends, 
Malcolm."  Then  he  turned  to  Chumru  again.  "  The 
jaghir  is  of  no  mean  size,"  he  said,  "  but  I  shall  see  to  it 
that  a  field  is  added  for  every  useful  fact  you  make 
known." 

Frank  listened  to  his  servant's  enumeration  of  the 
guns  and  troops  at  the  Lahore,  Mori,  and  Cashmere 
Gates,  and  he  was  surprised  at  the  accuracy  of  Chumru's 
mental  note-taking. 

307 


The  Red  Year 

"  I  need  not  have  gone  at  all,  sir,"  he  could  not  help 
commenting  when  the  bearer  had  answered  Nicholson's 
final  question.  "I  seem  to  have  a  Napoleon  for  a 
valet." 

The  brigadier  laid  a  kindly  hand  on  Frank's  shoulder. 

"You  forget  that  you  have  brought  me  the  most 
important  news  of  all,"  he  said.  "The  enemy  is 
defeated  before  the  first  ladder  is  planted  against  their 
walls.  They  know  it,  and,  thanks  to  you,  now  we 
know  it.  My  only  remaining  difficulty  is  not  to  take 
Delhi,  but  to  screw  up  our  Chief  to  make  the  effort." 

Then  his  voice  sank  to  a  deep  growl. 

"But  I'll  bring  him  to  reason,  I  will,  by  Heaven, 
even  if  I  risk  being  cashiered  for  insubordination ! " 


308 


CHAPTER  XVH 

THE   EXPIATION 

Two  hours  after  midnight  —  that  is  a  time  of  rest 
and  peace  in  most  lands.  Men  have  either  ceased  or 
not  yet  begun  their  toil.  Even  warfare,  the  deadliest 
task  of  all,  slackens  its  energy,  and  the  ghostly  reaper 
leans  on  his  scythe  while  wearied  soldiers  sleep.  Wel- 
lington knew  this  when  he  said  that  the  bravest  man 
was  he  who  possessed  "  two-o'clock-in-the-morning " 
courage,  for  shadows  then  become  real,  and  dangers 
anticipated  but  unseen  are  magnified  tenfold. 

Yet,  soon  after  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  Sep- 
tember 14,  1857,  four  thousand  five  hundred  soldiers 
assembled  behind  the  Ridge  for  the  greatest  achieve- 
ment that  the  Mutiny  had  demanded  during  the  four 
months  of  its  wonderful  history.  They  were  divided 
into  five  columns,  one  being  a  reserve,  and  the  task  be- 
fore them  was  to  carry  by  assault  a  strongly  fortified  city, 
surrounded  by  seven  miles  of  wall  and  ditch,  held  by 
forty  thousand  trained  soldiers  and  equipped  with  ample 
store  of  guns  and  ammunition.  Success  meant  the  cer- 
tain loss  of  one  man  among  four  —  failure  would  carry 
with  it  a  rout  and  massacre  unexampled  in  modem  war. 

309 


The  Red  Year 

Men  had  fallen  in  greater  numbers  in  the  Crimea, 
it  is  true  —  a  British  army  had  been  swallowed  alive  in 
the  wild  Khyber  Pass  —  but  these  were  only  incidents 
in  prolonged  campaigns,  whereas  the  collapse  of  the 
assailants  of  Delhi  would  set  free  a  torrent  of  murder, 
rapine  and  pillage,  such  as  the  utmost  triumph  of  the 
rebels  had  not  yet  produced. 

The  Punjab,  the  whole  of  the  Northwest,  Central 
India  and  Rajputana,  all  northern  Bengal  and  Bom- 
bay, must  have  been  submerged  in  the  flood  if  the 
gates  of  Delhi  were  unbarred.  It  is  not  to  be  marveled 
at,  therefore,  that  General  Wilson,  the  Commapder- 
in-Chief,  "looked  nervous  and  anxious"  as  he  rode 
slowly  along  the  front  of  the  gathering  columns,  nor 
that  many  of  the  British  officers  and  men  received  the 
Holy  Communion  at  the  hands  of  their  chaplains,  ere 
they  mustered  for  what  might  prove  to  be  their  last 
parade. 

In  some  tents,  of  their  own  accord,  the  soldiers  read 
the  Old  Testament  lesson  of  the  day.  With  that  extraor- 
dinary aptness  which  the  chronicles  of  the  prophets 
often  display  in  their  relation  to  current  events,  the 
chapter  foretold  the  doom  of  Nineveh:  "Woe  to  the 
bloody  city!  It  is  full  of  lies  and  robbery  .  .  .  draw 
the  waters  for  the  siege,  fortify  thy  strongholds  .  .  . 
then  shall  the  fire  devour  thee;  the  sword  shall  cut  thee 
off;  it  shall  eat  thee  up  like  the  canker-worm." 

How  thrilling,  how  intensely  personal  and  human, 
these  words  must  have  sounded  in  their  ears,  for  it 
should  ever  be  borne  in  mind  that  the  Britons  who 

310 


The  Expiation 

recovered  India  in  '57  were  not  only  determined  to 
avenge  the  barbarities  inflicted  on  unoffending  women 
and  children,  but  were  inspired  by  a  religious  enthu- 
siasm that  showed  itself  in  almost  every  diary  kept  and 
letter  sent  home  during  the  war. 

And  now,  while  the  brilliant  stars  were  dimmed  by 
bursting  shells  and  rockets  hissing  in  glowing  curves 
across  the  sky,  the  columns  moved  forward. 

English,  Scotch,  Irish  and  Welsh  —  swarthy  Pathans, 
bearded  Sikhs,  dapper  little  Ghoorkahs  —  marched  side 
by  side,  from  the  first  column  on  the  left,  commanded 
by  Nicholson,  to  the  fourth,  on  the  extreme  right, 
led  by  Reid. 

The  plan  of  attack  was  daring  and  soldier-like. 
John  Nicholson,  ever  claiming  the  post  of  utmost 
danger,  elected  to  hurl  his  men  across  the  breach  made 
by  the  big  guns  in  the  Cashmere  Bastion,  the  strongest 
of  the  many  strong  positions  held  by  the  enemy.  The 
second  column,  under  Brigadier  Jones,  was  to  storm 
the  second  breach  in  the  walls  at  the  Water  Bastion. 
The  third,  headed  by  Colonel  Campbell,  was  to  pass 
through  the  Cashmere  Gate  when  the  gallant  six  who 
had  promised  to  blow  open  the  gate  itself  had  accom- 
plished their  task,  while  the  fourth  column,  under 
Major  Reid,  undertook  to  clear  the  suburbs  of  Kishen- 
gunge  and  Pahadunpore  and  force  its  way  into  the 
city  by  way  of  the  Lahore  Gate. 

Brigadier  Longfield,  commanding  the  reserve,  had  to 
follow  and  support  Nicholson.  Generally  speaking,  if 
each  separate  attack  made  good  its  objective,  the  differ- 

311 


The  Red  Year 

ent  columns  were  to  line  up  along  the  walls,  form  posts, 
and  combine  for  the  bombardment  and  escalade  of  the 
fortress-palace.  Nicholson,  who  directed  the  assault, 
had  not  forgotten  the  half-implied  bai  »ain  made 
between  Malcolm  and  the  Princess  Roshinara.  Strict 
orders  were  given  that  the  King  and  members  of  the 
royal  family  were  to  be  taken  prisoners  if  possible. 
As  for  Akhab  Khan  and  other  leaders  of  rebel  brigades, 
it  was  impossible  to  distinguish  them  among  so  many. 
Not  even  Nicholson  could  ask  his  men  to  be  generous 
in  giving  quarter,  when  nine  out  of  every  ten  mutineers 
they  encountered  were  less  soldiers  than  slayers  of 
women  and  children. 

At  last,  in  the  darkness,  the  columns  reached  their 
allotted  stations  and  halted.  The  engineers,  carrying 
ladders,  crept  to  the  front. 

Nicholson  placed  a  hand  on  Jones's  shoulder. 

"  Are  you  ready  ?  "  he  asked,  with  the  quiet  confidence 
in  the  success  of  his  self-imposed  mission  that  caused 
all  men  to  trust  in  him  implicitly. 

"Yes,"  answered  Jones. 

Nicholson  turned  to  Malcolm  and  two  others  of  his 
aides. 

"Tell  the  gunners  to  cease  fire,"  he  said. 

Left  and  right  they  hurried,  stumbling  over  the 
broken  ground  to  reach  the  batteries,  which  were  thun- 
dering at  short  range  against  the  fast  crumbling  walls. 
In  No.  2,  which  Malcolm  entered,  he  found  a  young 
lieutenant  of  artillery,  Frederick  Sleigh  Roberts,  work- 
ing a  heavy  gun  almost  single-handed,  so  terribly  had 

312 


The  Expiation 

the  Royal  Regiment  suffered  in  the  contest  waged 
with  the  rebel  gunners  during  seven  days  and  nights. 

Almost  simultaneously  the  three  batteries  became 
silent.  With  a  heart-stirring  cheer  the  Rifles  dashed 
forward  and  fired  a  volley  to  cover  the  advance  of  the 
ladder-men,  and  the  first  step  was  taken  in  the  actual 
capture  of  Delhi. 

The  loud  yell  of  the  Rifles  served  as  a  signal  to  the 
other  columns.  The  second,  gallantly  led  by  Jones, 
rushed  up  to  the  Water  Bastion  and  entered  it,  but  not 
until  twenty-nine  out  of  thirty -nine  men  carrying  ladders 
were  killed  or  wounded.  On  Jones's  right,  Nicholson, 
ever  in  the  van,  seemed  to  lift  his  column  by  sheer 
strength  of  will  through  an  avalanche  of  musketry, 
heavy  stones,  grape-shot  and  bayonet  thrusts,  while 
the  rebels,  swarming  like  wasps  to  the  breach,  inspired 
each  other  by  hurling  threats  and  curses  at  the  Naza- 
renes.  But  to  stop  Nicholson  and  his  host  they  must 
kill  every  man,  and  be  killed  themselves  in  the  killing, 
and,  not  having  the  stomach  for  that  sort  of  fight, 
they  ran. 

Thus  far  a  magnificent  success  had  been  achieved. 
It  was  carried  further,  almost  perfected,  by  the  splendid 
self-sacrifice  displayed  by  the  six  who  had  promised 
to  blow  open  the  Cashmere  Gate.  To  this  day  their 
names  are  blazoned  on  a  tablet  between  its  two  arches 
—  *  Lieutenants  Home  and  Salkeld  of  the  Engineers, 
Bugler  Hawthorne  of  the  52d  and  Sergeants  Carmi- 
chael,  Smith  and  Burgess  of  the  Bengal  Sappers." 
Smith  and  Hawthorne  lived  to  wear  the  Victoria 

313 


The  Red  Year 

Crosses  awarded  for  their  feat.  The  others,  while 
death  glazed  their  eyes  and  dimmed  their  ears,  may 
have  known  by  the  rush  of  men  past  where  they  lay 
that  their  sacrifice  had  not  been  in  vain.  The  stout 
timbers  and  iron  bands  were  rent  by  the  powder-bags, 
and  the  third  column  fought  a  passage  through  the 
double  gateway  into  the  tiny  square  in  front  of  St. 
James's  Church. 

Then,  as  if  the  story  of  Delhi  were  to  serve  as  a 
microcosm  of  fortune's  smiles  and  frowns  in  human 
affairs,  the  victorious  career  of  the  British  columns 
received  a  serious,  almost  a  mortal  check.  The  muti- 
neers were  in  full  retreat,  terror-stricken  and  dismayed. 
Thousands  were  already  crossing  the  bridge  of  boats 
when  the  word  went  round  that  the  Feringhis  were 
beaten. 

They  were  not,  but  the  over-caution  against  which 
Nicholson  had  railed  for  months  again  betrayed  itself 
in  the  failure  of  the  second  column  to  capture  the 
Lahore  Gate  when  that  vital  position  lay  at  its  mercy. 
Audacity,  ever  excellent  in  war,  is  sound  as  a  proposi- 
tion of  Euclid  in  operations  against  Asiatics. 

Brigadier  and  men  had  done  what  they  were  asked 
to  do  —  they  ought  to  have  done  more.  Having  pene- 
trated beyond  the  Mori  Bastion  they  fell  back  and 
fortified  themselves  against  counter  assault,  thus  dis- 
playing unimpeachable  tactics,  but  bad  generalship  in 
view  of  the  enemy's  demoralization.  Instantly  Akhab 
Khan,  who  commanded  in  that  quarter  of  the  city, 
claimed  a  victory.  The  mutineers  flocked  back  to 

314 


The  Expiation 

their  deserted  posts.  While  one  section  pressed  Jones 
hard,  another  fell  on  Reid's  Ghoorkahs  and  the  cavalry 
brigade.  They  actually  pushed  the  counter  attack  as 
far  as  Hindu  Rao's  house  on  the  Ridge,  until  Hope 
Grant's  cavalry  and  Tomb's  magnificent  horse  artillery 
tackled  them.  A  terrific  melee  ensued.  Twenty-five 
out  of  fifty  gunners  were  killed  or  wounded,  the  9th 
Lancers  suffered  with  equal  severity,  but  the  rebels 
were  held,  punished,  and  defeated,  after  two  hours  of 
desperate  conflict. 

The  mischance  at  the  Lahore  Gate  cost  England  a 
life  she  could  ill  spare.  When  he  heard  what  had 
happened,  Nicholson  ran  to  the  Mori  Bastion,  gathered 
men  from  both  columns  and  tried  to  storm  the  Lahore 
Bastion  at  all  hazards.  It  was  asking  too  much,  but 
those  gallant  hearts  did  not  falter.  They  followed 
their  beloved  leader  into  a  narrow  lane,  the  only  way 
from  the  one  point  to  the  other.  They  fell  in  scores, 
but  Nicholson's  giant  figure  still  towered  in  front. 
With  sword  raised  he  shouted  to  the  survivors  to  come 
on.  Then  a  bullet  struck  him  in  the  chest  and  he 
fell. 

With  him,  for  a  time,  drooped  the  flag  of  Britain. 
The  utter  confusion  which  followed  is  shown  by  Lord 
Robert's  statement  in  his  Memoirs  that  he  found  Nichol- 
son lying  in  a  dhooly  near  the  Cashmere  Gate,  the 
native  carriers  having  fled.  Although  Baird  Smith,  a 
skilled  engineer  and  artillerist,  had  secured  against  a 
coup  de  main  that  small  portion  of  the  city  occupied 
by  the  besiegers,  General  Wilson  was  minded  to  with- 

315 


The  Red  Year 

draw  the  troops.  Even  now  he  considered  the  task  of 
subduing  Delhi  to  be  beyond  their  powers.  Baird 
Smith  insisted  that  he  should  hold  on.  Nicholson  sent 
a  typical  message  from  his  deathbed  on  the  Ridge  that 
he  still  had  strength  enough  left  to  struggle  to  his  feet 
and  pistol  the  first  man  who  counseled  retreat,  and 
the  harassed  commander-in-chief  consented  to  the  con- 
tinuance of  the  fighting. 

Although  his  judgment  was  mistaken  he  had  good 
reasons  for  it.  Akhab  Khan,  on  whom  the  real  leader- 
ship devolved  when  it  became  known  that  the  King 
and  his  sons  had  fled  from  the  palace,  tried  a  ruse  that 
might  well  have  proved  fatal  to  his  adversaries.  Count- 
ing on  the  exhaustion  of  the  British  and  the  privations 
they  had  endured  during  the  long  months  on  the 
Ridge,  he  caused  the  deserted  streets,  between  the 
Cashmere  and  Mori  Gates,  to  be  strewed  with  bottles 
of  wine,  beer  and  spirits.  To  men  enfeebled  by  heat 
and  want  of  food  the  liquor  was  more  deadly  than 
lead  or  steel.  Were  it  not  that  Akhab  Kahn  himself 
was  shot  through  the  forehead  while  trying  to  repel 
the  advance  of  Taylor's  engineers  along  the  main  road 
to  the  palace  from  the  Cashmere  Gate,  it  was  well 
within  the  bounds  of  possibility  that  the  afternoon  of 
the  14th  might  have  witnessed  a  British  debacle. 

In  one  respect  the  sepoy  commander's  death  was 
as  serious  to  his  cause  as  the  loss  of  Nicholson  to  the 
English.  The  rebels,  fighting  fiercely  enough  in  small 
detachments,  but  no  longer  controlled  by  a  man  who 
knew  how  to  use  their  vastly  superior  numbers,  allowed 

316 


The  Expiation 

themselves  to  be  dealt  with  in  detail.  Soon  the  British 
attack  was  properly  organized,  and  a  six  days'  orgy  of 
destruction  began. 

Although  no  Briton  was  seen  to  injure  a  woman  or 
child  in  the  streets  or  houses  of  Delhi,  the  avenging 
army  spared  no  man.  Unhappily  thousands  of  harm- 
less citizens  were  slaughtered  side  by  side  with  the 
mutineers.  The  British  had  received  a  great  provo- 
cation and  they  exacted  a  terrible  payment.  On  the 
20th  the  gates  of  the  palace  were  battered  in  and 
the  British  flag  was  hoisted  from  its  topmost  turret. 
Then,  and  not  till  then,  did  Delhi  fall.  The  last  of 
the  Moguls  was  driven  from  the  halls  which  had 
witnessed  the  grandeur  and  pomp  of  his  imperial  pred- 
ecessors, and  the  great  city  passed  into  the  hands  of 
the  new  race  that  had  come  to  leaven  the  decaying 
East.  It  was  a  dearly-bought  triumph.  On  Septem- 
ber 14  the  conquering  army  lost  sixty-six  officers  and 
eleven  hundred  and  four  men.  Between  May  30  and 
September  20  the  total  British  casualties  were  nearly 
four  thousand. 

Malcolm  soon  learnt  that  the  Princess  Roshinara 
Jiad  fled  with  her  father  and  brothers.  Probably  the 
death  of  Akhab  Khan  had  unnerved  her,  and  she 
dared  not  trust  to  the  mercy  of  the  victors.  Frank 
was  among  the  first  to  enter  the  palace.  After  a  few 
fanatical  ghazees  were  made  an  end  of,  he  hurried 
towards  the  zenana.  It  was  empty.  He  searched  its 
glittering  apartments  with  feverish  anxiety,  but  he  met 
no  human  being  until  some  men  of  the  75th  entered 

317 


The  Red  Year 

and  began  to  prise  open  boxes  and  cupboards  in  the 
search  for  loot. 

After  that  his  duties  took  him  to  the  Ridge,  and  it 
was  not  until  all  was  over  that  he  heard  how  Hodson 
had  captured  the  King  and  shot  the  royal  princes 
with  his  own  hand.  This  tragedy  took  place  on  the 
road  from  Humayun's  Tomb,  whither  the  wretched 
monarch  retreated  when  it  was  seen  that  Delhi  must 
yield.  Hodson  claimed  to  be  an  executioner,  not  a 
murderer.  He  held  that  he  acted  under  the  pressure 
of  a  mob,  intent  on  rescuing  Mirza  Moghul,  the  heir 
apparent,  and  his  brother  and  son.  That  all  three 
were  cowardly  ruffians  and  merciless  in  their  treatment 
of  the  English  captured  in  Delhi  on  May  11,  cannot 
be  denied,  but  Hodson's  action  was  condemned  by 
many,  and  it  was  perhaps  as  well  that  he  found  a 
soldier's  grave  during  Colin  Campbell's  advance  on 
Lucknow. 

It  was  there  that  the  fortune  of  war  next  brought 
Malcolm.  Delhi  had  scarce  quieted  down  after  the 
storm  and  fury  of  the  week's  street  fighting  when 
Havelock,  reenforced  by  Outram,  drove  the  relief  force 
through  the  insurgent  ring  around  the  Residency  like 
some  stout  ship  forcing  her  way  to  port  through  a 
raging  sea. 

No  sooner  had  he  entered  the  entrenchment  on  the 
25th  of  September  than  the  rebel  waves  surged  together 
again  in  his  rear,  and  on  the  27th  the  Residency  was 
again  invested  almost  as  closely  as  ever.  But  the 
new  column  infused  vigor  and  hope  in  the  hearts  of 

318 


TJie  Expiation 

a  garrison  that  had  ceased  even  to  despair.  Apathy, 
a  quiet  waiting  for  death,  was  the  prevalent  attitude 
in  Lucknow  until  the  Highland  bonnets  were  seen 
tossing  above  the  last  line  of  mutineers  that  tried  to 
bar  their  passage  through  the  streets.  At  once  the 
besieged  took  up  the  offensive.  The  lines  were  greatly 
extended,  the  enemy's  advanced  posts  were  carried  with 
the  bayonet,  troublesome  guns  were  seized  and  spiked 
and  the  rebel  mining  operations  summarily  stopped. 

Two  days  before  Havelock's  little  army  cut  its  way 
into  Lucknow,  Ungud,  the  pensioner,  crept  in  to  the 
retrenchment  and  announced  the  coming  relief.  He 
was  not  believed.  Twice  already  had  he  brought  that 
cheering  message  and  events  had  falsified  his  news. 

Winifred,  a  worn  and  pallid  Winifred  by  this  time, 
sought  him  and  asked  for  tidings  of  Malcolm.  He 
had  none.  There  was  a  rumor  that  Delhi  had  fallen, 
and  an  officer  had  told  him  that  there  was  a  Major 
Malcolm  on  Nicholson's  staff.  That  was  all.  Not  a 
letter,  not  a  sign,  came  to  reassure  the  heart-broken 
girl,  so  the  joy  of  Havelock's  arrival  was  dimmed  for 
her  by  the  uncertainty  that  obtained  in  regard  to  her 
lover's  fate. 

Then  the  dreadful  waiting  began  again.  After 
having  endured  a  plague  of  heat  in  the  hot  weather, 
the  remnant  of  the  original  garrison  was  subjected  to 
the  torment  of  cold  in  the  months  that  followed.  In 
Upper  India  the  change  of  temperature  is  so  remark- 
ably sudden  that  it  is  incomprehensible  to  those 
who  live  in  more  favored  climes.  Early  in  October 

319 


The  Red  Year 

the  thermometer  falls  by  many  degrees  each  day.  The 
reason  is,  of  course,  that  the  diminishing  power  of  the 
sun  permits  the  earth  to  throw  off  by  night  the  heat, 
always  intense,  stored  during  the  day.  Something  in 
the  nature  of  an  atmospheric  vacuum  is  thus  created, 
and  the  resultant  cold  continues  until  the  opposite  effect 
brings  about  the  lasting  heat  of  the  summer  months, 
which  begin  about  March  15  in  that  part  of  India. 

But  scientific  explanations  of  unpleasant  phenomena 
are  poor  substitutes  for  scanty  clothing.  In  some 
respects  the  last  position  of  the  beleaguered  garrison 
was  worse  than  the  first,  and  the  days  wore  on  in  seem- 
ingly endless  misery,  until  absolutely  authentic  intel- 
ligence arrived  on  November  9,  that  Sir  Colin 
Campbell  was  at  Bunnee  and  would  march  forthwith 
to  relieve  the  Residency. 

Then  Outram,  who  had  succeeded  to  the  chief  com- 
mand as  soon  as  Havelock  joined  hands  with  Inglis, 
called  for  a  volunteer  who  would  act  as  Sir  Colin's 
guide  through  the  network  of  canals,  roads,  and  scat- 
tered suburbs  that  added  to  the  dangers  of  Lucknow's 
narrow  streets,  and  a  man  named  Kavanagh,  an  un- 
co venanted  civilian,  offered  his  services. 

It  is  not  hard  to  picture  Kavanagh's  lot  if  he  were 
captured  by  the  mutineers.  His  own  views  were 
definite  on  the  point.  Beneath  his  native  disguise  he 
carried  a  pistol,  not  for  use  against  an  enemy,  but  to 
take  his  own  life  if  he  failed  to  creep  through  the  in- 
vesting lines.  But  he  succeeded,  and  lived  to  be  the 
only  civilian  hero  ever  awarded  the  Victoria  Cross. 

3£0 


The  Expiation 

Another  incident  of  the  march  should  be  noted. 
Malcolm  saw  preparations  being  made  to  hang  a 
Mohammedan  who  was  suspected  of  having  ill-treated 
Europeans.  The  man  protested  his  innocence,  but  he 
was  not  listened  to.  Then  Frank,  thinking  he  remem- 
bered his  face,  questioned  him  and  found  he  was  the 
zemindar  who  helped  Winifred,  her  uncle  and  himself 
during  the  flight  from  Cawnpore. 

Such  testimony  from  an  officer  more  than  sufficed  to 
outweigh  the  slight  evidence  against  the  prisoner,  who 
was  set  at  liberty  forthwith.  During  the  remainder  of 
his  life  he  had  ample  leisure  to  reflect  on  the  good 
fortune  that  led  him  to  help  the  people  who  sought  his 
assistance  on  that  June  night.  Were  it  not  for  Mal- 
colm's interference  he  would  have  been  hanged  without 
mercy,  and  possibly  not  without  good  cause. 

On  the  afternoon  of  November  11,  Sir  Colin  Camp- 
bell reviewed  his  little  army.  It  was  drawn  up  in 
parade  order,  on  a  plain  a  few  miles  south  of  the 
Dilkusha.  Three  thousand  four  hundred  men  faced 
him,  and  the  smallness  of  the  number  is  eloquent  of 
the  magnitude  of  their  task.  Indeed,  that  is  one  of 
the  salient  features  of  each  main  episode  of  the 
Mutiny.  Nicholson  at  Delhi,  Havelock  at  Cawnpore 
and  on  the  way  to  Lucknow,  Colin  Campbell  in 
the  pending  action,  and  Sir  Hugh  Rose  in  many  a 
hard  fought  battle  in  Central  India,  one  and  all  were 
called  on  to  attack  and  defeat  ten  times  the  number 
of  sepoys. 

JJut  what  fine  troops  they  were  who  met  the  com- 

321 


mander-in-chief  s  gaze  as  they  stood  marshaled  there, 
on  that  dusty  Indian  maidan.  Peel's  sailors,  with  eight 
heavy  guns,  artillerymen  standing  by  the  cannon  that 
had  sounded  the  knell  of  Delhi  from  below  the  Ridge, 
the  9th  Lancers,  who  held  the  right  flank  when  the 
capture  of  Hindu  Rao's  house  would  have  meant 
the  collapse  of  the  assault,  the  8th  and  75th  Foot,  the 
2d  and  4th  Punjabis  —  all  these  had  followed  the  Lion 
of  the  Punjab  when  he  stormed  the  Cashmere  Bastion. 
Sikh  Cavalry,  too,  and  Hodson's  wild  horsemen,  and 
many  another  gallant  soldier,  fresh  from  the  immortal 
siege,  returned  the  General's  quiet  scrutiny,  as  he  rode 
past,  and  doubtless  wondered  how  he  would  compare 
as  a  leader  with  the  man  whom  they  had  left  in  the 
little  cemetery  at  the  foot  of  the  Ridge. 

It  is  on  record  that  from  the  end  of  the  line  came  a 
yell  of  welcome  and  recognition.  The  93d  Highlanders 
remembered  what  Campbell  had  done  in  the  Crimea, 
and  their  joyful  slogan  brought  a  flush  to  the  bronzed 
face  of  the  old  war  dog  when  he  learnt  the  significance 
of  their  greeting. 

Next  morning  began  a  three  day's  battle.  Perhaps 
there  was  never  an  action  so  spectacular,  so  thrilling, 
so  amazingly  in  earnest,  as  the  continuous  fight  which 
brought  about  the  Second  Relief  of  Lucknow.  At  the 
Alumbagh,  at  the  Dilkusha  and  La  Martiniere  school, 
at  the  Secunder  Bagh  and  the  Shah  Nujeef,  were  fought 
fiercely-contested  combats  that  in  other  campagins 
would  have  figured  as  independent  battles,  each  highly 
important  in  the  history  of  the  time. 

322 


The  Expiation 

The  taking  of  the  Shah  Nujeef  alone  was  worthy  of 
Homeric  praise.  It  was  a  mosque  that  stood  in  a 
garden,  bounded  by  a  high  and  stout  wall  and  pro- 
tected by  jungle  and  mud  hovels.  Its  peculiar  position, 
joined  to  the  number  of  guns  mounted  on  its  walls  and 
the  thousands  of  sepoys  who  held  it,  made  it  impossible 
for  a  devoted  artillery  to  create  an  effective  breach. 
Yet,  if  the  relieving  force  failed  here,  they  failed  alto- 
gether. So  Sir  Colin  asked  his  men  for  a  supreme 
effort.  Riding  forward  himself,  accompanied  by  his 
staff  and  Sir  Adrian  Hope,  Colonel  of  the  93d,  he 
cheered  on  his  loved  Highlanders.  Cannot  one  hear 
the  skirl  of  the  pipes  amid  that  din  of  cannon  and 
mu  sketry  ?  Cannot  one  see  the  shot-torn  colors  fluttering 
in  the  breeze,  the  plaids  of  the  gallant  Highland  gentle- 
men who  led  the  93d,  vanishing  in  the  smoke  and  dust  ? 
Middleton's  battery  of  the  Royal  Artillery  came  dashing 
up,  "  the  drivers  waving  their  whips,  the  gunners  their 
caps,"  unlimbered  within  forty  yards  of  the  wall,  and 
opened  fire  with  grape.  Men  and  horses  fell  in  scores, 
but  somehow,  anyhow,  an  entrance  was  gained  and 
the  Shah  Nujeef  was  taken.  Feeble  must  be  the  pulse 
that  does  not  beat  faster,  dim  the  eye  that  does  not 
kindle,  as  one  hears  how  those  Britons  fought  and 
died,  but  did  not  die  in  vain. 

Next  day  Captain  Garnet  Wolseley  led  a  storming 
party  against  the  Motee  Mahal,  and  the  self-sacrificing 
heroism  of  the  Shah  Nujeef  was  displayed  again  here 
and  with  the  same  result. 

And  so  the  wild  fight  went  on,  till  Outram  and 


*&* 
323 


The  Red  Year 

Havelock,  Napier,  Eyre,  Havelock's  son  and  four 
other  officers  ran  from  the  Residency  through  a  tem- 
pest of  lead  showered  on  them  from  the  Kaiser  Bagh, 
and  Hope  Grant,  dashing  forward  from  the  van  of 
Colin  Campbell's  force,  shook  hands  with  the  hero  of 
the  First  Relief. 

Half  an  hour  later  Malcolm  entered  the  Residency. 
At  first  sight  it  was  an  abode  of  sorrow.  Death  and 
ruin  seemed  to  have  combined  there  to  wreak  their  spite 
on  mankind  and  his  belongings.  Even  the  men  and 
women  whom  he  met  were  tear-laden,  and  it  was  not 
till  he  heard  their  happy  voices  that  he  knew  they  were 
weeping,  because  of  the  overwhelming  joy  in  their  souls. 

He  hurried  on,  scanning  each  excited  group  for  one 
face  that  he  thought  he  would  recognize  were  it  fifty 
years  instead  of  five  months  since  their  last  meeting. 
He,  of  course,  was  even  a  finer-looking  and  better  set-up 
soldier  now  than  when  he  galloped  along  the  flame-lit 
roads  of  Meerut  on  that  never-to-be-forgotten  Sunday 
night  in  May,  and  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  if  he 
failed  to  allow  for  the  effect  on  Winifred  of  the  ordeal 
she  had  gone  through. 

Perhaps  his  keen  eyes  were  covered  with  a  mist, 
perhaps  the  growing  fear  in  his  heart  forbade  his 
tongue  to  ask  a  question,  because  he  dreaded  the 
answer.  Perhaps  sheer  agitation  may  have  rendered 
him  incapable  of  distinguishing  one  among  so  many. 
Howsoever  that  may  be,  he  knew  nothing,  saw  no  one, 
until  a  wan,  slim-figured  woman,  a  woman  clothed  in 
tattered  rags,  down  whose  pallid  cheeks  streamed  the 

324 


The  Expiation 

divine    tears    of    happiness,    touched    his    arm    and 
sobbed : 

"  Are  you  looking  for  me  —  dear  ?  " 

************** 

The  Mutiny  was  by  no  means  ended  with  the  fall 
of  Delhi  and  the  Second  Relief  of  Lucknow.  North 
and  south  and  east  and  west  the  rebels  were  hunted 
with  untiring  zeal.  Sometimes  in  scattered  bands,  less 
often  in  formidable  armies,  they  were  pursued,  encoun- 
tered and  annihilated.  Quickly  degenerating  into  mere 
robber  hordes,  they  became  a  pest  to  the  unhappy 
villagers  in  the  remoter  parts  of  the  different  provinces, 
and  it  was  long  ere  the  last  embers  of  the  fire  that  had 
raged  so  fiercely  were  stamped  out.  Nana  Sahib  per- 
ished miserably  under  the  claws  of  a  tiger  in  the 
Nepaul  jungle,  the  Moulvie  of  Fyzabad  and  the  Ranei 
of  Jhansi  fell  in  action,  while  Tantia  Topi  was  hanged. 
But  the  end  came,  and  on  November  1,  1858,  amid 
salvoes  of  artillery  and  to  the  accompaniment  of  fes- 
tivities innumerable,  Queen  Victoria  proclaimed  the 
abolition  of  the  East  India  Company,  and  assumed  the 
sovereignty  of  the  country.  Her  Majesty  took  no  ter- 
ritory, confirmed  all  treaties,  promised  religious  tolera- 
tion and  civil  equality  to  all  her  Indian  subjects,  and 
gave  full  and  complete  pardon  to  every  rebel  whc  was 
not  a  murderer. 

The  Queen's  gracious  and  peace-bringing  words  sup- 
plied a  fitting  close  to  India's  Red  Year.  Europeans 
and  natives  alike  tried  to  forget  both  the  crime  and  its 
punishment.  And  that  was  a  good  thing  in  itself, 

325 


The  Red  Year 

The  great  land  of  Hindustan  has  doubled  its  teeming 
population  and  increased  its  prosperity  out  of  all 
comparable  reckoning  during  the  fifty  years  that  have 
passed  since  the  Mutiny.  Many  of  the  descendants 
of  men  who  fought  against  the  British  Raj  are  now 
its  trusted  servants,  and  there  is  not  in  India  to-day  a 
native  gentleman  of  any  importance  who  would  not 
assist  the  Government  with  his  life  and  fortune  to  save 
his  country  from  the  lawless  horrors  of  any  similar 
outbreak. 

But  these  are  matters  for  the  politician  and  the 
statesman.  It  is  more  fitting  that  this  story  of  the 
lives  and  fortunes  of  a  few  of  the  actors  in  a  great 
human  drama  should  conclude  with  such  particulars 
of  their  subsequent  history  as  have  filtered  through 
time's  close-woven  meshes  of  half  a  century. 

One  day  in  February,  not  so  long  ago,  a  young 
officer  of  the  Guides,  who  had  come  to  Lucknow  for 
"  Cup  "  week,  was  standing  in  the  porch  of  the  Moha- 
med  Bagh  Club  when  he  heard  a  young  lady  bewailing 
fate  in  the  shape  of  a  tikkagharry  which  had 
brought  her  there.  Her  "  people  "  were  at  the  Chutter 
Munzil  Club,  miles  away,  for  Lucknow  is  a  big  place, 
and  she  was  already  late  for  tea. 

Being  a  nice  young  man,  the  said  officer  of  the  Guides 
could  not  bear  to  see  a  nice  young  woman  in  distress. 

"My  dogcart  is  just  coming  up,"  he  said,  "and  I 
am  going  to  the  Chutter  Munzil.  Won't  you  let  me 
drive  you  there  ?  " 

She  blushed  and  hesitated  and  of  course  agreed. 
326 


The  Expiation 

On  the  way,  to  maintain  a  polite  conversation,  he 
pointed  out  several  historic  buildings. 

"  You  are  stationed  here,  I  suppose  ?  "  she  said. 

"No,  indeed.  My  regiment  is  at  Quetta,  but  I  was 
reared  on  the  records  of  Lucknow.  My  grandmother 
went  through  the  whole  of  the  siege,  and  my  grand- 
father was  with  the  Second  Relief.  It  must  have 
agreed  with  their  health,  for  they  were  both  out  here 
two  years  since,  and  I  went  over  the  Mutiny  ground 
with  them." 

"How  interesting!    Was  that  how  they  met?" 

"  No.  They  were  engaged  just  before  the  Residency 
was  invested.  It  is  an  awfully  interesting  yarn,  and 
I  should  like  some  day  to  have  a  chance  of  telling  it 
to  you.  There  is  a  native  princess  in  it,  and  a  pearl 
necklace,  which  is  worth  quite  a  lot  of  money,  and  is 
believed  to  have  been  stolen  by  a  sepoy  before  my 
grandfather  obtained  it,  quite  by  accident.  And  the 
old  chap  —  he  was  quite  a  young  chap  then,  you  know 
—  had  a  remarkable  native  servant  who  did  so  well  at 
the  Mutiny  that  he  became  a  nawab  or  something  of 
the  sort.  Really,  the  whole  thing  is  more  like  a  book 
than  a  chapter  of  real  life." 

"I  had  a  grandmother  in  the  Mutiny,"  said  the 
girl,  "but  she  had  such  a  sad  experience  that  she 
seldom  mentioned  it.  Her  maiden  name  was  Keene, 
and  her  father  was  killed  at  Fattehpore  — 

"Keene!  Did  she  ever  speak  of  a  man  named 
Malcolm,  who  saved  her  and  her  sister  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes!    You  don't  mean  to  say — " 
327 


The  Red  Year 

"Yes,  really,  I'm  his  grandson.  Now,  isn't  that 
the  queerest  thing  ?  Just  imagine  the  odds  against  my 
meeting  you  here  under  such  conditions?  Please  tell 
me  your  name,  and  you'll  let  me  call,  won't  you  ?  " 

The  girl  was  somewhat  breathless.  Young  Malcolm 
was  looking  at  her  as  though  he  felt  that  a  special 
dispensation  of  Providence  had  brought  them  to- 
gether. 

"I  am  sure  my  mother  will  be  glad  to  meet  you 
and  hear  all  about  those  old  days  at  Lucknow,"  she 
said  shyly. 

So  it  may  be  that  the  gray  ruins  of  the  Residency, 
over  which  the  flag  flies  ever  that  was  kept  there  so 
resolutely  by  the  men  and  women  in  '57,  saw  the 
beginning  of  another  love  idyll,  destined  to  end  as 
happily  as  that  which  had  its  being  amidst  the  terrors 
and  fury  of  the  Mutiny. 


THE  END 


328 


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story  of  the  wild  life,  illuminating  and  supplementing  the  pen  pictures 
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RED  FOX.  The  Story  of  His  Adventurous  Career  hi  the  Ring* 
waak  Wilds,  and  His  Triumphs  over  the  Enemies  of  His 
Kind.  Wth  50  illustrations,  including  frontispiece  in  color 
and  cover  design  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 

A  brilliant  chapter  in  natural  history.  Infinitely  more  wholesome 
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free-footed,  those  who  know  animals  and  those  who  do  not."— 
Chicago  Record- Herald. 

GROSSET    &  DUNLAP,  Publishers,        -        •        New  York 


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t^EDRA,  by  George  Barr  McCutcheon,  with  color  frontispiece^ 
and  other  illustrations  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

The  story  of  an  elopement  of  a  young  couple  from  Chicago,  who 
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POWER  LOT,  by  Sarah  P.  McLean  Greene.    Illustrated. 

The  story  of  the  reformation  of  a  man  and  his  restoration  to  self- 
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The  dear  old  story  has  never  been  more  lovingly  and  artistically  told. 

MY  MAMIE  ROSE.      The   History   of  My   Regeneration,  by 
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This  autsliography  is  a  powerful  book  of  love  and  sociology.  Reads 
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John  Burt,  a  New  England  lad,  goes  West  to  seek  his  fortune  and 
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GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  Publishers,         -         -         New  York 


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